


Darlin' it's Cold Outside

by vvhiny



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Business Trip, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Pining, Skiing, Slow Burn, alexander is oblivious to everything, thomas is in wayyy too deep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvhiny/pseuds/vvhiny
Summary: When Washington told Alexander that the annual Schuyler Conference would be held in British Columbia, well, let's just say he didn't factor a ski resort into the equation.No issue there. He had a foolproof plan: bury himself in next month's work, get down to business and most importantly -- steer clear of a certain pompous asshole at all costs. But that would just be too easy, wouldn't it?It's going to be a long weekend.





	1. It's Fucking Cold

**Author's Note:**

> this is a shoutout to my beta and best friend alice whom i dragged into jamilton and forced her to stay. thanks for listening to me rant about this couple 9 hours a day. this one is for u buddy. <3

Alexander’s never been a fan of cooler temperatures. In fact, when he reviewed the pros and cons of moving from Nevis to Manhattan last year, it was the promise of bitterly cold winters that almost kept him from leaving the familiar heat of the Caribbean.

Ok, well, Alex wouldn’t have let some _snow_ deter him from the offer of heading the financial department at _Washington & Steubens Co, _perhaps the most prestigious accounting firm currently operating in New York City.

He worked so hard to get to be where he was now. He recalls applying as a hopeful intern from Columbia University, bright eyed and optimistic. He'd struggled to even achieve that. Alexander recalls countless Business Insider reviews submitted to local papers, mountains of excel spreadsheet work, and to top it off -- all  _that fucking community service._ And that was just to be considered. When he got the place? He just moved to to drilling out essay upon essay a week and being the designated coffee man for his asshole superiors. 

Well, it was never going to be easy.

He wouldn’t have traded his job for anything else, though, he thinks proudly. Working at W&S has been the ride of his life. A ride he doesn’t want to get off for a long time.

No, he definitely wouldn’t have sacrificed this opportunity for anything.

Well.

Maybe he spoke too soon.

“You’ve got to be _fucking kidding me_.”

When Washington emailed Alexander that the annual Schyler Conference would be held in British Columbia this year, he didn’t expect it to be different from any of the other years. The usual firm handshakes, flute glasses of champagne, forced smiles and a lot of discussion on the residual value of major companies and “gods, _have you seen the state of the stock market_?

He blinks owlishly at the address punched into the Google Maps app on his phone and looks up at the sight infront of him. He has to have gotten something wrong here, because the ornate lamp posts and chair lift reminds him _suspiciously_ of a ski lodge, and that’s ridiculous because this is a _professional_ _business conference_ and couldn’t _possibly_ be the venue for the conference.

 _I must have gotten the address wrong,_ Alexander reasons, swallowing down his dread and pulling up his work email with shaking fingers.

That day he remembers being swamped with work, some misdirection of funds which left the financial department practically scrambling to scrape something together for marketing when he saw the subject line **_Schuyler Conference - 12/12/16 - British Columbia_ ** drop in his inbox. At the time he reasoned that he’d get Laurens to give him the details later and just checked the box to confirm his attendance. I mean, he had more pressing matters at hand, and it wasn’t like he could say no anyway.

Scanning through the email with wide eyes, he threw his head back with a groan.

* * *

 

_Mr Hamilton,_

_I’d like to extend you a welcome to the 10th annual Schuyler Conference this year! 10 years of a successful business partnership with our esteemed companies gives reason to celebrate accordingly. As such, this year we invite you to join us at  our own ‘Le Jour de L’Hiver’ Ski Lodge in the beautiful Whistler, British Columbia. Whilst this atmosphere will be less formal, we encourage you to network with our other sister companies to make the most out of your business stay._

_For more information please see the attached files - an itinerary, recommended packing list and the address._

_For any further queries do not hesitate to contact me._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Angelica Schuyler_

_(Head of PR)_

_Schuyler Enterprise_

* * *

 

He pulls open the attached files and cross-references the address with the one punched into his Maps app. Yep, _2961 Blackburne Way, Whistler_ alright.

He’s going to kill John Laurens.

If he doesn’t die of hypothermia first.

With a huff, he hurls his suitcase over his shoulder marches up the concrete stairs two steps at a time to come face to face with the fanciest revolving doors he’s seen in awhile. Pushing through, he immediately sighs in relief at the warmth that greets him.

Wow. The Schuyler’s don’t fool around, Alex thinks glumly, taking in the grandeur of the room.

It’s got that fancy rustic chalet feel, with high white ceilings and dark polished wooden panelling lining the walls. Plush burgundy leather couches line the lounge side of the lobby where a few suited men are chatting casually around a flickering fireplace. He spots a marvellously stocked bookcase to the side and takes a mental note to check out the titles later to see if there’s something he hasn’t read yet -- he could at least do that this weekend.

Caught in his thoughts, he startles when a couple of burly men push through the doors behind Alexander, dressed head to toe in ski gear and Alex almost bounces back in shock, moving forward a few steps so he’s not clinging to the front door. One of the men stops for a beat and turns around, pulling off those ridiculous ski goggles and --

“Alex?”

“John?” He gawks, taking in the mess of puffy, shrinky red material in front of him. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“What does it look like? Just went to the hills to snowboard”, John sends the man next to him a smile and a dismissive wave and the taller man nods and walks off. He smiles after the man’s retreating form before dragging his gaze back to Alexander. “You’re late y’know. Most people have checked in already.”

Alexander can’t believe how _nonchalant_ John is being about this. “Well, you’ve got some fucking explaining to do because when I entrusted you to give me the details for the Schuyler Conference--” Alex wildly takes in his surroundings,“I certainly did not sign up for some fucking ski, “ _fun-time getaway”_ ”, using his fingers to emphasise his utter distaste, “with my work colleagues!” his voice squeaks high at the end, causing a few curious stares from others in the lobby. He bites his lip in embarrassment but steels his glare.

John just shrugs innocently and gives him a wide smirk. “Should’ve read the email then, buddy!” he sings, throwing his snowboard over his shoulders and retreating making movements to leave the room.

“I trusted you! I asked you what we needed to do-- wait, _where the fuck do you think you’re going_?”

“You never would have come if I didn’t… omit certain details,” Laurens says, waving a nonchalant hand and shooting Alexander a wink over his shoulder. “And about me leaving? Well, in hindsight, that guy had a great ass. I was thinking maybe I could grab his digits. Y’know, make the most of this _business_ trip” he purrs, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, a smug smile creeping across his freckled face.

Alexander just stares slack-jawed at him as John shrugs off his ski jacket and places his snowboarding gear in the storage area of the lobby with a quick _thank-you_ to the staff.

He can’t believe this bullshit, so he charges all of his frustration and shoots Laurens daggers with his eyes. He watches as his freckled smile falters and he lets out a weary sigh, leaning back against the wall to gaze down at the shorter man.

“This is gonna be good for you Alex. You need a break dude. You’ve been working yourself too hard.”

“That’s none of your concern.” Alex sighs, bringing his fingers to massage his temples. “I’ve been getting better anyway, since, y’know...” he stammers, and before Laurens can pipe up and mutter some stupid words he _doesn’t_ need to hear, he mutters, “Where’s everybody gathered again?”  

Laurens shakes his head in resignation before firmly linking Alexander’s arm with his. “The lounge just off the lobby. C’mon, I’ll come with you.”

They make their way into the lobby in short time, Laurens enthusiastically updating him on who from the sister companies would be joining them for the weekend.

With all this news, Alexander was actually taken aback to hear that only one of the chairman’s daughters, Angelica, would be attending the conference this weekend. Apparently the other two were preoccupied with, as John eloquently puts,“ _some kinda PR business-y shit in the South”,_ and weren’t able to make it.

It’s a shame, Alexander thinks, because he remembers really hitting it off with of the daughters at his last networking event. He recalls a petite woman with a slender frame and black hair pulled into a chic bun. She had the cutest button nose and a smile that crinkled at the corners of her mouth and this… distinctly _feminine_ air of carrying herself that had Alex weak at the knees and fumbling uselessly over his words. He had almost built up the courage to ask her to grab some dinner with him sometime before he’d been harshly pulled away by Jefferson who, for some reason or another, found it _absolutely imperative_ that he introduced Alexander to an IT guy from another company.

That reminds him.

“Laurens. Please tell me Jefferson miraculously caught a severe cold and won’t be gracing us with his presence.” Alexander pleaded through gritted teeth.

Of course, it was wishful thinking. Doing the mental math in his head left it highly improbable that the man wouldn’t come. He was fine last week, suffering from merely a common cold, perfectly healthy minus a couple of carefully timed sneezes when he walked past Alex’s desk. He seethes at the memory, clenching his fists slightly before being dragged back to the present.

“You’re just going to have to wait and see, aren’t you, Hammy?” The real answer hidden carefully behind Laurens’ trademark smirk, giving absolutely _nothing_ away as he leads them through an ornate wooden doorframe. Alexander follows with a frustrated huff as they make their way into the ski lounge.

It’s a wide room, similar aesthetically to the lobby with burgundy accents and polished dark wooden beams stretching out across the ceiling to create a cabin-like sense of comfort. The room hums with chatter and _god_ , there has to be at least 60 people in here, all dressed casual-formal, in button downs and pencil skirts. Scanning the room, he spots a few familiar faces from their work.

James Madison is sitting on the couch, talking to two men before entering into a coughing fit, hunched over, with one hand raised apologetically and the other curled around his mouth to stifle the sounds. Poor guy, Alexander has never seen the man not in a state of illness. He spots Washington by the corner of the fireplace guffawing to a shrewd looking Philip Schuyler, a glass of red wine eloquently raised to his lips.

Well, time to do business, this is a _business_ trip after all.

It all goes by quite uneventfully as Alex lazily flitters through the crowd, making the usual rounds of polite introductions and silent battles for who can give the firmest handshake. He greets the other company’s financials team, getting into a long-winded discussion about fiscal policies and the stock market, only to be interrupted by Washington’s booming voice echoing through the large room.

“Attention, please! Hello, everyone!” he calls, his full, deep voice filling the room to its brim. The murmurs quiet down as everyone turns to look at the man.

“It’s great to see so many familiar faces under one roof. On behalf of Washington & Steuben Co, we’d like to thank the generous Schuyler's for organising this wonderful weekend.” He gestures to Mr. Schuyler to his right, an obligatory round of applause reverberates around the room as the man gives a polite nod in acknowledgment of the attention.

“Without their generosity in funding our company, W&S would not have managed to achieve best firm in New York for the third year running. I ask you to join me as we raise a toast to their ongoing and valued support!” he calls, smiling as he raises a tall champagne flute in the air, leaning it slightly in the direction of Philip Schuyler, and giving a nod . The room follows suit, raising their glasses and mumbling a cheers. Alexander sips from his own glass before recoiling at the taste. Gross. He never got used to the taste of wine, no matter how many of these functions he has been to.

“If you haven’t yet done so, I suggest you check into your rooms. There will be a dinner at 7 sharp, so be there or you might go to bed hungry and I’m not paying for room service” Washington jokes, the room gently chuckling at the comment. “That’s all! Enjoy your evening, ladies and gentlemen!”, Washington turns back to Philip Schuyler to resume his previous conversation, standing tall and important next to the stoic pose of the head of Schuyler Enterprise.

With that, everyone continues on with their previous engagements, some making their way to leave the room, possibly to check in after Washington's threat of no dinner. Alex politely removes himself from the room, saying his goodbyes to the group of business men he had become acquainted with, before making his way over to the reception desk to pick up his room number. He enjoys talking about financials any day, but at this stage he just wants to relax and collect himself. He needs to plan what he’s going to get done to get ahead this weekend whilst everyone else frolicks in the snow.

He makes his way over to the reception and plants his hands firmly on the dark wood of the front desk. “Excuse me, I’m looking to check in?” he calls to a lady at the back.

“Will be with you in just a minute sir”, she nods, “I’m currently helping this other gentleman.” Alex moves to apologise for not paying attention to the man before he realises who it is. He feels his mouth curl into a familiar scowl reserved for a certain asshole colleague.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Hamilton!” the sound of Alexander’s name in the Southern drawl raises the hairs on his neck in disgust.

“Jefferson. What a pleasure.” Alexander replies dryly, forcing a fake smile that quickly morphs into an obvious scowl in less than a second, unable to hide his utter _hatred_ for the man standing before him.

There he is. Thomas fucking Jefferson. The arrogant, pompous head of marketing asshole who finds pleasure in making every conference meeting a living hell for all of the financial department. But mostly he prides himself on making Alexander want to pull his hair out.

He stands tall, holding his head obnoxiously high, dressed as if he were attending a high class function in an expensive looking tailored suit, because _of course he’s wearing a fucking suit, this is Jefferson_ . Over the top, he dons a lavish brown coat, which Alexander thinks is _extremely_ unnecessary; this is a business event not a fashion show. His whole ensemble screams _I have money_ and it makes a small part of Alex feel inadequate, with him rocking up in his battered jeans from college and his own Goodwill black coat. He quickly shakes away the thought, he is _Alexander Hamilton,_ not some pompous twat that needs expensive clothes to feel important.

Alexander burns his gaze on a smudge on the wall and starts drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently, avoiding having to even _look_ at the arrogant man next to him _._ Of course, he hopes that his overt body language and back turned to the taller man gives him a clue that he’d rather not have a conversation right now, but of course the asshole talks through it anyway.

“Didn’t think this was your scene?”

Plastering the most strained smile he can manage, he waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not, really”, he says flippantly, not even bothering to spare him a glance. “But this is important to Washington and beneficial for the company’s corporate functionality”. He lets out a laugh to himself before turning his gaze to his hands.

“Not that you’d know anything about that.” He mutters under his breath.

“Oh, Alexander!” the man beams, and suddenly Alex is smelling the man’s expensive cologne and he avoids retching right then and there. “You’re not still upset about last week, are you…?”

Seething, he pushes back firmly on the desk to glare up at the man. And wow, to complete his perfectly crafted asshole picture, he’s even _smirking_ , looking down at Alex through thick black lashes and brown frames.

“It’s Hamilton to you, thanks.” Alex grits his teeth, “Oh, and yes. I am.”

“Christ, really?” he wipes mirthful tear from his eyes, pushing up his frames before shooting him a pitiful look. He feels blood start to boil. “You should probably get over that soon. As you said we’re here to improve _corporate functionality.”_ Oh! And here’s my cue to leave.”   

The receptionist returns and glances between the two of them with a confused smile before handing Jefferson his keys. The man flashes her a charming smile and a _Thanks, doll_ before spinning around, stepping away from the desk. He stops and lets out a resigned sigh, looking back at Alex. “Let’s just steer clear of each other this weekend.”

“As if you even had to make that point” Alex scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Hope you enjoy your weekend, Mr Jefferson.”

The man leaves, and Alex brings his attention back to the receptionist. She disappears briefly and takes much less time sorting out Alex’s details and luggage, which he attributes to Jefferson probably bringing along his whole wardrobe for the weekend. He grabs the key and with a _thank-you_ makes his way to the elevator, punching in the 3rd floor.

He spots Jefferson at the end of the hall, walking towards him and chatting casually with Madison. He grits his teeth. Of course Angelica would put them all on the same floor, it’s common sense. Doesn’t mean it’s not going to be a pain in the ass to have to stomach Jefferson’s yabbering. He ignores them and strides purposefully down the halls, counting down the numbers on the doors.

_301, 302, 303…_

As Jefferson stalls at a door a few steps in front of him, Alex sends out a silent prayer for his room to be as far away from the Virginian as possible.

 _Should be fine anyway_ , _there’s 20 rooms on the floor._

_304, 305--_

No.

No, no, NO.

There has to be some mistake here. Some stuff up because Alexander refuses to believe that the world would be cruel enough to play him like this.

Jefferson stands to his right, key half in the lock and staring at him with horrified eyes. Alex gulps and desperately looks down at his key.

  1. _306_.



Their rooms are next to one another.

They both let out a groan.


	2. Don't Diss Goodwill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post this early because I felt terrible that the first chapter was so uneventful -- believe me, this is where the fun starts ;-)
> 
> as always thanks to my best bud alice for beta-ing. im dreading you having to read me write smut but WE're in toO deeP.

Alexander’s taken aback at the amount of work he's actually managed to get done. It's really quite a fucking lot. Especially considering how for the last two hours he'd had to sit his ass down through Jefferson’s incessant chatter that he could hear through the thin hotel walls while he took, what he presumes to be, a business call. Letting out a groan and stretching out his fingers, he lets his head flop back to the back of the bed frame. 

Did Jefferson even know what he sounded like on the phone?

Like a pretentious asshole.

Ok, perhaps that wasn’t _exactly_ true.

It pained him to admit, but the man was good at what he did. Charismatic, voice smooth as silk and he possessed this  _persuasive touch._ But _god,_  he had an annoying laugh. It was breathy and real and _normal_ and the thought of Jefferson as normal made his stomach churn because Jefferson was in no way a _normal human being_.

Alexander groans, hitting his head back against the wall, grimacing as pain thumps through his skull. Shit, he must be really tired if he’s focusing on Jefferson’s voice this much.

He needs coffee. A lot of coffee. 

Nah, no time for that. He needed to get this shit done. 

He’s about to knuckle down into the last part of his financial pitch for next month’s meeting when he hears the annoying buzz of his phone receiving a notification across the room. He ignores it for the moment. I mean, let's be honest. It’s probably just John messaging him about that dumb guy in the lobby with the nice ass, and while he does like talking about the male species, nows the time to focus to the task on hand. He's almost there.

_‘And so, in summary, introducing a policy would in turn allow--’_

His phone buzzes obnoxiously again, rattling against the bedside table and he groans again. I mean, he  _guesses_  a second message warrants a check at _least_. With a groan and a satisfying pop of his spine as he stretches out his body, he reaches over to snatch up his phone, sliding the screen open.

**[6:50PM] -- from John Laurens**

**hey man, heres ur friendly reminder that daddy W is gon kick ur ass if ya dont come down for dinner at 7**

**[6:57PM] -- from John Laurens**

**alex if you value ur life u will come downstairs now :-)**

Shit shit shit _shit._

Alex practically falls off the bed in his shock, throwing his laptop closed in the process. He curses at the sound, before leaning down to hastily re-button his crinkled shirt.

 _Shit._ He’s still wearing his washed-out jeans which he knows is going to look ridiculously unprofessional, but he slips on his fancier work shoes and throws his hair up into what he hopes is a endearingly messy bun to make up for it before grabbing his black coat and fumbling out the door.

In his rush, he stops to stare at himself in a mirror in the hallway. 

 _Fuck._ He’s looking a hot mess. He didn't even wear a goddamn  _tie._

The elevator is there but goddammit Alex doesn’t have the _time_ for that so he instead throws open the door to the fire stairs and runs down them, leaping down two precarious steps at a time.

With a quick _Where’s the dining hall?’_ to a startled staff member, he manages to find the doors to the dining room. For fucks sake, why are there so many _fucking_ rooms in this building.

He’s sweating by the time he aggressively pushes the doors open, panting furiously.

"Uh..."

He’s met with burning stares from the people in the room. He curses to himself as he notices he's the last one here. Everyone has sat down already, glasses of wine raised mid-toast, obviously having stalled their conversation through his dramatic entry.

He meets Laurens' eyes from across the room, who looks like he’s trying so hard not to burst into laughter. Angelica looks disapproving, one free arm folded across her chest, giving him a pointed look. Madison cocks an eyebrow and Jefferson, _Jefferson_ has the audacity to give him a slow up/down, dragging his eyes from Alex’s dishevelled hair to his mismatched socks before curling his mouth into a cat-like smirk.

The worst though, is Washington. He feels his throat tighten as he's put on the receiving end of the most strained, forced smile he’s ever seen grace the stoic man's face and watches shamefully as his boss grits his teeth, tightening his vice-grip on his wine glass until it looks like it might snap under the pressure.

“Alexander,” he starts, eyes flashing dangerously, “how _nice_ of you to join us this evening.”

Alex smiles sheepishly, stuttering apologies for his lateness to the other members of the table before fumbling into the empty seat beside Washington and John, groaning when he realises that Jefferson is seated across from him. How can he still be grinning? He looks like an idiot. He fights the urge to reach out and slug the smug bastard right across his face. Yeah, that'd wipe that stupid smirk off just easy. Alas, he can’t. This is a business dinner, he reminds himself, and calls upon the gods to give him patience to deal with just one meal with the man. He resolves to returning Jefferson's shit-eating grin with his own heated glare.

Dinner starts off pleasantly enough. He chats amicably with members of the sister company, laughing when necessary and smiling a smile he hopes is not too forced when someone brings up some suggestion that he join the man and his colleagues on the slopes for skiing tomorrow. John thankfully intervenes, leaning in excitedly to tell the businessmen that tomorrow he’s planning on heading up to the slopes to snowboard with Lafayette. They chat about random snow-shit and Alex tunes out. He rolls his eyes when the freckled man leans out of the conversation to add with a whisper and an eyebrow wiggle, that he’s got an evening with _Oliver ‘nice-ass’_ planned as well.

He’s pretending to be interested in a conversation about his sister company's stance as a conglomerate and when he overhears Mr Schuyler starting up a _very interesting_ conversation with his boss.

“So, George, since Washington & Steubens is doing so well,” Philip Schuyler starts, swirling his wine glass before raising it to his lips to take a poised sip. “Where do you believe we should allocate more funds to? I’m willing to increase spending if it means your business’s continued success.” Alexander shares an excited look with members of the financial department. They've been waiting for this moment! This is their _chance!_

Washington beams, clasping his hand on the man’s shoulder and smiling broadly. “That would be _fantastic_ , Philip! In fact, we’ve been looking into--”

“The financial department would _love_ your support!” Alexander starts excitedly, leaning forward and clasping his hands together over the table. “We’ve been wanting to pursue finding means of accessing more relevant financial data for _months_ now,” he chitters excitedly, “and there’s this business--”

He’s interrupted by a snort from the man across him, and he rears up indignantly to find the source of the sound.

Who else did he expect? Of fucking course it was Jefferson who piped up.

“Do you happen to have a problem with that, Mr. Jefferson?” he hisses, clenching his fists.

“In actuality I do, Mr. Hamilton!” Jefferson scoffs, shooting Alexander a dead-pan look as if he were a child. Alex wriggles hotly in his seat, face flushing and getting increasingly frustrated by the man’s judgemental gaze by the second.

“The marketing department requires more funding, especially in the case of networking meetings.” He starts, gesturing to other members of his department, who nod in agreement like fucking _dogs_ brought to heel.

“We need to find ways to advertise our products more effectively.” Alexander gawks as Jefferson shoots him an up and down look _again_ before finishing, “and we all know that the financial department doesn’t need more funding. They already got a boost last month.”

Holy shit. He’s going there? _Now_?  _Here?_

He can feel the heat rising and his blood start to boil. Ok, ok. Deep breaths Alex. Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene. He runs through those old anger-management classes in his head, the ones he was forced to attend in highschool, and tries to remember the techniques the counsellors taught him. No use.

It's Washington’s eyes, glancing to him warningly, that persuades Alex to steady himself. Taking all his self control, he regains his composure, sitting up against the chair and staring back at the taller man pointedly. He grits his teeth. 

Oh wait.  _Oh yes._

“Is that so, Mr. Jefferson? I’d have to disagree.” He starts, smirking wickedly. “In fact, I have some _great_ statistics about how the last time the marketing department was allocated extra funds, they misdirected and we experienced a 6% drop in sales. Care to explain that?” he questions, leaning back into his chair with a smug look. Jefferson stiffens in response, hands tensing around his knife and fork against the table. And oh how Alexander _revels_ in the way he turns to aggressively cut into his steak, hearing the plate screech in protest as he shoves a piece in his mouth. The people at the table flinch. Alex hears Laurens stifling laughter under his breath, and feels the man pat his thigh under the table approvingly.

“ _Yes_ , and that following month we made up for that drop in sales with our other venture, if you haven’t forgotten?” Jefferson hisses back in response. Madison brings a careful hand up to Jefferson’s shoulder and whispers soothingly and the taller man's tense shoulders lower slightly, and he watches as he regains some semblance of his composure. He glances back at Philip Schuyler, who’s looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second, busying himself with the dinner in front of him.

“So uh….good potatoes?” Washington tries, attempting to regain at least a bit of civility in the tense atmosphere. His attempts are quickly swept aside by Jefferson’s assured voice.

“Marketing is the foundation of this company, Mr. Schuyler. Allocating those funds to us would be highly beneficial, if you’d consider us.” He snakes his charm into his voice, smiling that dumb, fake _smile_ and Alexander loses it.

He _knows_ the power of Jefferson's charms. He’s a snake charmer, a manipulator. He's used to doing anything he wants and getting what he wants without anyone batting an eyelid.

Many a time, it was _him_ that caused Alex’s months of hard work for his team to be compromised.

He wasn't going to let him get away with fucking him around again.

He glances under the tablecloth as Jefferson’s ridiculously long legs bump up against his.

There we go.

With precise aim, he locks onto his target, and in a swift manoeuvre kicks Jefferson directly in the shin.

There’s a moment of stunned silence at the table as the taller man grunts loudly, doubling over in pain.

“Y-you… you _bastard”_ Jefferson hisses softly, clenching his leg and letting out a frankly _pathetic_ moan of pain. Alex can’t believe this. This is too hilarious. He triumphantly grins, shooting John a smug look. The man just stares back, slack-jawed. 

Oh shit. 

He just kicked Jefferson. 

At a  _business dinner._

In front of his colleagues.

Mr Schuyler gets up abruptly, pushing his chair back and glancing down at his plate wearily.

“You must excuse me for a moment… I have to go to the washroom.” He glances between Alexander and Jefferson coldly before hastily turning and walking out the door.

“Mr Hamilton. Mr Jefferson.” Washington starts, voice rumbling with anger, and then and there Alexander _knows_ he’s in deep shit. He glances up at Washington with an innocent look but recoils at the _fire_ in his expression, gazing between the two of them.

“I think you would both benefit from some fresh air. Take a walk. Together. Right now.” He grits, and Alexander watches curiously as his boss grips his fork so tightly his knuckles begin to turn white.

“But sir--” 

“It’s snowing outside, sir” Jefferson says dumbly, blinking in confusion.

“Are you in a position right now to question me? If you value your jobs you will take. A. Walk.” Washington hisses, slamming his hand down on the table. “NOW.”

Alexander flushes in shame. He tries to shoot Washington his best “ _I’ll be good, I promise”_ look that usually gets him some leverage, but his boss is having none of it. Shit. He really did fuck up this time.

Sighing, he pushes himself up from the table by his hands and gathers his coat with a huff. He briefly mutters his apologises under his breath to the table and hangs his head shamefully. He catches John shooting him a concerned look, mouthing “ _Good luck”_ before the man turns to Washington to presumably calm down the furious man. With that, he leaves the room, shifting uncomfortably as stares burn on his back.

And of course Jefferson is following him out the lobby doors like a lost puppy. It’s as if they don’t spend every waking hour fucking working together. God forbid Alex have a moment to wallow alone in self pity in _peace_.

He makes it to the outside of the lobby doors, and immediately he’s hit with the evening chill from the snow outside, prickling his skin and he shudders. Sighing wearily, he tugs his hands into the warmth of his cheap black coat. It’s much colder out here than inside and Alex’s face stings. This stinks.

Goddammit.

If only he could control himself then he would still be inside, persuading Mr Schuyler for funding for his department. And he probably blew it for everyone.

He bites back frustrated, shameful tears at having been reprimanded.

Wait, no.

This is all goddamn Jefferson’s fault with his big ass mouth and his frankly impressive talent of ruining everything his he and his department has ever strived for.

“This is all your damn fault, you know.” Alex grits, poking at the snow with a stick.

Jefferson stands behind him, leaning against the wall, breathing hot air into his hands to keep himself warm. “It is not. I spoke up for what I needed for my department”, he sighs, resigned. He watches as the man rubs his long forefingers against his temple in circular motions. “Look... we’ve been having it rough with sales lately.”

“Not my problem.”

“Ok you know what? Fuck you Hamilton. I have a faculty to maintain as well, you know. My job is integral to the success of this goddamn company,” he raises his voice, anger overtaking his usually controlled tone.

Alexander scoffs, glaring up at Jefferson before reciprocating the up/down that he so _lovingly_ gave him earlier at the dinner. “Oh please,” he scoffs, “your job is to just parade around in fancy suits and lie to people to get them to endorse us."

Jefferson barks out a humourless laugh and before he can push him away, the scent of Jefferson’s cologne floods his senses as the man leans into his shoulder. “At least I know how to _dress professionally_ like I didn’t buy my entire wardrobe from _Goodwill_ ” he hisses hotly into Alex’s ear. With that, he pulls himself up and pads away, starting up the steps towards the lobby doors and, oh no.

Alexander was not going to let that comment slide.

He scoops up a ball of snow, feeling it burn against his bare hands as he clenches it to form a ball. In one deft movement, he swings his arm and calls upon his experience being pitcher in college to hurl the snowball with bruising force at the man. It lands squarely on the back of Jefferson’s head and he watches with glee as he stiffens mid-stair, frozen in place.

“Don’t. Diss. Goodwill.” he hisses, folding his arms across his chest angrily, though in actuality feeling pretty fucking satisfied with his trajectory. That was a good shot. He's still got it. 

The look on Jefferson’s face paints a pretty picture. He’s completely red in the face, steam practically coming out of his ears in rage, fists clenched tightly at his sides, staring at Alexander slack-jawed.

“Did you just throw a fucking _snowball_ at me?” He says angrily, “Are you a goddamn _child_?”  

Alex shrugs, and he watches Jefferson’s eyes flash with something akin to anger. Oh well, let him have his pity party.

He turns his attention back to poking the snow when suddenly he feels his shirt being pulled back and something cold and _wet_  hitting his skin and he squeals at the sensation, falling forward to try to get the snow off his back. He lands face first in the powdery snow.

Jefferson laughs behind him, a fucking _chortle_ , and Alexander has had it. He pushes himself up by his hands and flashes his eyes challengingly at the man. 

“Is that how you want to play? Then fucking fine. Bring. It. on”.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Laurens manages to make it out of the dinner, he immediately goes off to collect Alex. I mean, _shit_ . That was _intense_.

Sure, it was mostly Jefferson’s fault, as always. But he knows Alex has been trying really hard to push funding for the financial department to the point of losing sleep. And god knows Alexander needs his sleep. 

As he turns out the doors, he contemplates the conversation. I mean, I probably should have spoken up in his defense, he thinks, but reasons that he just couldn’t help himself. Watching them bicker was a show in itself that he couldn’t find himself to press pause on.  

And when Alex kicked Jefferson’s shin under the table? _Priceless_. He wanted to frame the look on the usually smug man’s face after that. Oh well, he can just laugh about it again with Laf and Alex tomorrow.

When he goes off to the lobby to find Alex and can’t spot his familiar slight frame, he reasons that he must be outside. Pushing the doors open, he’s met with probably the strangest scene he’s seen since walking in on Alexander sitting fully clothed in the bathtub in college, high as shit.

Alexander is sitting in the snow, presumably he just fell, head thrown back and grinning up at the man in front of him. He’s laughing and holding his hands up in surrender as Jefferson advances on him. The taller man is smiling broadly over him, gathering up snow in his hands and releasing it onto Alex’s head. He watches confusedly as Alex squeals in childish protest, shaking the snow from his hair, before tugging Jefferson down by his shirt into the snow with him. The man topples over and they wrestle playfully in the snow like fucking  _cats._

Laurens can’t help but feel like he’s intruding on something oddly… intimate?

Well. This is a development.

John finds the corners of his mouth turn into a smile and watches them for a few moments longer.

So, looks like Alex has got a thing for Thomas then? Then this is going to be interesting weekend. He briefly thinks back to that bet he made with Hercules, the water cooler guy.

He might get 50 bucks back after all, if he plays his cards right.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s late by the time Alexander makes it back into his designated room. He doesn’t speak directly to Jefferson after their little… snowball skirmish? But Jefferson does call out “goodnight asshole” before they both disappear into their hotel rooms, which Alexander found mildly disturbing but also pleasant. Maybe they could actually along for the weekend?

He makes his way over to the shower, peeling off the clothes practically plastered to his body with a grimace before sighing as the hot water washes away any remnants of the cold. 

It was weird. The snowball fight.

Alexander had _fun_.

He had _fun_ with _Jefferson_. Two things he never thought would happen together. Maybe it was seeing Jefferson’s ass against the snow and glaring up at him with a scowl that got a rise out of him. It was odd seeing Jefferson like that though. Showing his childish side… it was… interesting.

He turns the knob of the shower off and makes his way out, changing into sweatpants. He should probably get back to work. 

He punches out a few more pages of writing before his eyes begin to become unfocused and strained on the screen. 

He glances around the dark room, sighing and flicking the light switch on. 1:30AM. Ugh, he couldn’t work with stupid Jefferson’s stupid unfamiliar behaviour running through his mind. Maybe he needed a break for awhile. Just for thirty minutes. He recalls that well-stocked bookcase in the lounge. Perhaps they’ll have some interesting reads? He thinks he spotted some Hemingway works down there...

The thought makes him hum with excitement and he promptly pulls on his sweater and socks, silently praying that no one else is up at this hour, and bounds down the stairs to the lounge.

Perfect. The fireplace is flickering, casting a warm orange glow on the plush furniture of the lounge. His mouth curls at the sight. It’s a perfect place to curl up and read a book - and when Alex zeros in on a familiar red Hemingway binder, he practically skips over and takes it off the shelf before turning to flop himself on the couch and bury himself in the cushions.

But of course, lo and behold, there he is.

Thomas Jefferson.

He’s sitting there, back slumped against the sofa and brown glasses sit delicately on his nose. His hair is up in a bun, and Alex would probably have mistaken him for Lafayette if he didn’t recognise Jefferson’s stupid, yet admittedly elegant tortoiseshell frames.

He’s about to spit out a greeting but his breath catches in his throat and he, Alexander Hamilton, for the first time in a long time, is rendered speechless.

The orange light of the fireplace dances beautifully across Jefferson’s face creating a soft ethereal glow on his dark skin, highlighting his sharp jawline and pronounced cheekbones. The man's eyes are downcast, flicking through his own book. He darts his eyes down to read the cover.

War and Peace. A good read.

The man really is quite a sight when not shooting off at the mouth, _silence is a good look on him_ , Alexander thinks. He smiles despite himself and pads over to sit down in the armchair opposite. Maybe he’s insane and running off the after-glow of their time together, but he actually doesn’t mind Jefferson right now. He could use some company.

Jefferson raises his sleep-clouded eyes from his book to meet Alex’s before letting out a _tsk_ and sighs wearily, burying his gaze back into the mountain of pages on his lap.

“Can’t sleep”, Alex mumbles, curling his feet under him, unfurling the book and beginning to read.

Despite Hemingway being a brilliant writer, he finds himself distracted by the sight infront of him. The way the taller man’s hair is pushed out of his face, loose strands of dark brown curls softly framing the structure of his bones. The way the light dances off his skin in beautiful rhythm with the crackling fire and his concentrated breath. His breath catches when Jefferson’s tongue pokes out to gloss over his lips, pursed ever so slightly in concentration, and Alex curses himself because Jefferson’s _attractive_ and it’s not fair because he’s an _asshole_.

“You’re hopeless.” The taller man murmurs in a velveteen drawl, not even lifting his gaze as he carefully flips to the next page.

They sit together in a comfortable silence, the only noise breaking their quiet cocoon being the occasional hum from Jefferson and Alex shuffling around in his seat get himself comfortable. He glances up to stare at the man too many times for him to count, and he’s flustered when their eyes meet, beautiful, deep and brown, but holds his gaze, even as the other man squirms under it. He swears he sees red flood his cheeks, but it could have been a trick of the light.

The crackle of the fire and the warmth of the room floods his senses and in a startling moment, he’s calm. He feels the tension seep out of his body and feels himself loosening up.

It’s really just a matter of time before Alex’s vision starts to blur together and he blinks wearily.

 _Just 5 minutes,_ he reasons, and allows his eyes to flicker shut.

He dreams of someone running long, careful fingers through his hair and a soft whisper in a sleepy drawl.

“ _Goodnight, Alexander.”_

-.-.-.-

 _“_ Alex… _”_

Someone's voice stirs Alex from his sleep, but he shuffles further into himself to drown it out.

“ _C’mon_ bud…” he feels his shoulders being shaken and slowly blinks open his eyes, letting out a groan. His eyes adjust to the light to see Laurens leaning over him with soft eyes, curly hair framing his face.

“Alex, it’s 3AM. C’mon, you need to get up.” He moans, wriggling out of the blanket on top of him. Huh. In his sleepy state he doesn’t remember bringing a blanket down with him.

He feels John’s strong arms wrap around his frame and hoist him up, and he leans into his touch, curling his arms around his neck.

“Whyyyyy…” Alex moans, leaning his face to rest in the junction of Lauren’s shoulder. He smells really good. Like shea butter body wash. Familiar.  

Laurens begins carrying him bridal style towards the elevator, which Alex would protest fiercely on any other day if he weren’t so tired. With a ding, he’s bathed in the harsh fluorescent light of the elevator. He groans as the light hits his eyelids and shifts closer to the man’s chest.

“Because babygirl,” he whispers softly, “there’s gonna be people coming down at 6AM, and you need to rest. Now, which number was your room?”

“306” Alex mumbles. He likes this, he thinks. John. All strong against his chest. Familiar. It reminds him of where they were one year ago and his heart twists painfully in his chest for a brief moment. He misses the intimacy.

They manage to get to the room and John lays Alexander down with careful hands onto the bed, and Alexander hums in pleasure as he sinks down into the sheets. He feels in his sleepy state John pull the covers over his frame and place a glass of water on his bedside, just like he used to every night when they roomed together in college.

“Ok, there you go,” he whispers, gathering his bag again. “I better head back to--”

“Stay.” Alexander pleads, wriggling his hands out to the man and making grabby motions. John laughs softly, shaking his head with a smile, before crawling into bed beside him. Alex immediately snakes his arms around his frame, leaning into his touch.

“Stroke my hair, please. Like you used to.” he murmurs, leaning up to look at John through thick eyelashes. He’s struck by the affection reflecting back in them as John silently raises his hands up to his hair, raking his fingers across his scalp pleasantly.

“Goodnight, _cariña._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you enjoy the chapter? :--) we'll be back for more fun time in the snow next week! 
> 
> don't be an asshole like thomas and leave some feedback.
> 
> yes you. 
> 
> it takes 5 seconds and it'll brighten my day. PLEASE.


	3. Long Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has a few... interesting chats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asssss always thanks to my beta and best friend alice ♡♡♡ im a weirdass and she still loves me

It’s really too fucking early for this. 

Alexander somehow manages to peel his sleep-crusted eyes awake before blinking blearily in the soft light of the room. Sunlight is filtering through the maroon curtains, casting a dull glow on the bed and his face. He grimaces as a particular spot of light dances across his sensitive eyes.

Ugh.

Alexander had been awake for a while, sure, but he’d just been laying there. He truly could have gotten out of bed hours ago-- but nope, instead he’d been putting it off, deciding to delve deeper into the warmth of his bed covers rather than face the day.

Alex moans at the feeling of the warm comforter underneath his fingers, fighting the urge to duck back underneath them and lean up against the warm body that was there before. 

_ C’mon Alex, have some self restraint.  _

He should really get up, get some work done.

_ Nahhhhhh _ . 

He pulls his arms up, reaching out to snake his arms around John’s frame with the intention of pulling him closer and inhaling that delicious scent of his shea body butter-- 

Alexander lets out a small yelp of surprise as he’s met with only air. His arms flop down ungracefully in the empty space. 

Ah. That’s right. 

John had left.

It had been some ungodly hour, like, 7 in the morning? When John had got out of bed. He knows this because he remembers with a shiver feeling cool air seep into the pocket of warmth under the blankets that John had shared with him as the man pushed the covers off himself.  

Well, Alex knew that John always got up at 7 sharp out of force of habit anyway. Despite his carefree attitude, the man seemingly always had things to do. 

Alexander vaguely remembers trying to tug John back into the warmth of the bed, but he had just pulled himself up, ruffled Alexander’s hair and told him to get back to sleep. And as always, he couldn’t say no to that voice, full of familiarity and caring. 

With a grunt, he leans over to pluck his glass of water and drinks it thirstily, soothing the feeling of his dry throat.

As he shifts to put the glass down, Alexander feels something sticky shift on his forehead. 

The fuck? 

Alexander reaches up to feel at the offending item. Christ's sake. 

A sticky note? 

He peels it off his forehead with a wince before drawing it close to his eyes to read, rubbing the remnants of the glue from the paper off his skin. He squints eyes and brings the paper closer to his face, his brow furrowed in an attempt to read the message. He’s not wearing his glasses, so it takes him a few seconds to read the hastily scrawled letters, but it’s definitely John’s handwriting.

* * *

 

_ gone to get bfast w/ laf _

_ will bring you back food @10 _

_ theres a coffee machine in the lounge  _

_ \-- john  _

_ p.s: u drool in your sleep _

* * *

 

Alex does fucking  _ not  _ drool in his sleep. 

Regardless, he weighs the pros and cons of the situation in his head.The bed was still warm and inviting, practically  _ begging _ him to stay. He could curl back up, skip breakfast for today and get caught up on some much needed rest, God  _ knows  _ he needs the extra sleep and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped breakfast. But… doing so would probably piss John and Laf off and knowing him, he probably would oversleep.

At the least Alex would appreciate another half hour of rest, but when he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table blinking 9AM back at him he admits that he probably doesn’t have the luxury of choice. Especially if he wants to get some work done.

Plus, coffee really does sound fucking good right now.  

With that as his motivation, Alex rolls out of bed and plucks some clothing out of the weekender suitcase sitting by the dresser. He manages to find a nice pair of brown trousers and wriggles into his oversized green sweater that Laf bought him for Christmas, sighing as the soft fabric slides comfortably against his skin. 

He’s excited to see Laf again. It’s been awhile since he’s seen the man, especially since Washington had selected Laf 6 months ago to go to France to act as a representative for W&S. The change meant that they were able to make sure operations were running smoothly in their businesses over there, but it also meant Alex lost his favourite drinking buddy. Shit, Alex had really missed the man’s company. 

Speaking of Washington.

Shit. He really did royally fuck up yesterday. He wouldn’t be surprised if when he pulls up his work email he’ll be met with a curt message notifying him that Washington will be demoting him back to merely financial advisory and promoting Lee in his stead. Or even worse, he’d tell Alex to pack his bags and just never come back to the company, to find another job working for some boss who he knew wouldn’t appreciate his work effort. 

His stomach churns in dread at the thought. Alexander couldn’t leave, he’d worked  _ way  _ too hard for this company to get the boot now. I mean, after what he’d done to boost the company higher? He was surely of more value to Washington where he was than goddamn demoted or fired.

Still, the idea leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He’d have to work hard to make up for his actions yesterday to get back in Washington’s good books. I mean, Alex knows that being in his good books in the first place was what had allowed him to get the position he had at only 25, a considerable feat for someone his age. And fuck anyone who thinks he can't handle this. 

He was  _ not _ going to lose to Lee. Not by a long shot. 

Grabbing his laptop determinedly, he pushes out the hotel room door and makes his way to the lounge. 

It’s 10 minutes of fumbling with the settings before Alexander somehow manages to work out how to get a coffee out of the machine. It has to be a sin to have so many buttons on one machine. He lets out a groan and slams his head against the machine. 

There were practically 300 different types of coffee that came up in the options-- for fucks sake, what kind of pretentious fuck drinks shit like ‘ _ extra creamy soy caramel macchiato _ ’s anyway?

There should be only one kind of coffee, he thinks, smiling as the scent of freshly ground coffee beans comes through the churn of the machine. Straight black. Yep. No sugar, no sweetener, no crap. Just pure, unadulterated coffee. 

Alex takes a deep inhale as his strong brew is poured into his cup. With so few hours in the day and piles of work to get done? Coffee is just what he needs. 

He sinks into a plush armchair in the lounge and dives into his work, only stopping to sip on his cooling coffee before returning to furiously churning out his research paper. People flitter around him, getting their own breakfast, but Alex just tunes them out and keeps in his own pocket of the room. 

Here’s hoping everyone will give him the pleasure of not mentioning what happened last night.

Alexander realises he spoke too soon when he feels a firm hand plant on his shoulder and he recoils instinctively, shooting up to look at the offender. 

He’s met with a broad grin as an older gentleman wearing an obnoxiously patterned suit plonks down on the armrest of the chair. He blinks as he takes in the appearance of his other boss, Friedrich Steubens. 

“Alexander! It’s great to see you”, he exclaims in accented english, shaking his shoulder slightly, “I heard you caused quite the stir last night!” 

Alex flinches at that. Shit. How did he know? Did Washington tell him? Well, of course Washington told him, they’re the heads of this company for a reason-- Alex,  _ snap out of it this warrants an answer.  _

“I’m so  _ sorry _ sir,” he splutters, fumbling his laptop closed, “I was  _ grossly  _ unprofessional in my actions and I- I was blinded by the prospect of extra funding, y’know? You know right? how -- no, I’m getting off topic. It was my fault,” Alex apologises, hanging his head shamefully.

“Alexander, look at me.”

He hesitantly drags his up eyes to meet his boss’, preparing for the worst. He feels his whole body relax at the sight of the familiar playful gleam in his eyes, and he sighs in relief. 

Thank god, he wasn’t angry. At least, not that angry. 

“I’m not mad at you, ‘lex. We are all aware of what you and Thomas are like, yes?”, the man says, ruffling his hair. Alex squirms uncomfortably under the affection of the man’s action. “Washington was expecting something like this to happen, but he didn’t suspect it would be right in front of Mr Schuyler!” he throws his head back in a loud laugh at that, and Alex curls in on himself again with a grimace at the memory.  _ Ugh, so unprofessional. _

“It doesn’t excuse my actions, sir. I probably blew it for my team” he says glumly. 

Steubens just hums at that, curling a hand up to cup his own chin. “Well, it took some convincing through a rather expensive bottle of wine to calm Mr Schuyler down, but he’s not too mad at you two either. He knows from Washington just how crucial you are to our company’s success.” 

Alexander feels his heart warm at the praise, and he raises his chin high with pride. 

“But… George is still not very happy with you. We looked unprofessional in front of our sister companies when we should have been setting the scene, especially with the work we’ve accomplished this year” the man starts, nodding curtly. “The head of financials and the head of marketing not even be able to get along over a good steak? Hah, it is not a good look for us.” 

“I understand sir. Completely.”

“Good, because I really want you to make an effort to get along with Jefferson this weekend. Yes, this also means participating in  _ all _ business events. Which includes activities held in the ski lodge.” Alex opens his mouth in protest at that, he’d much rather steer WELL away from Jefferson, but Steubens just clicks his tongue and wags his finger at him. “No, listen to me. Doing so will…  _ reassure _ both Washington and I that we can trust you to be behave cordially at other business functions. Plus, we both know you’re months ahead on work already.”

Alexander lets out a shudder at the idea of Jefferson and himself, strained smiles across the table at one another whilst everyone wines and dines ignorantly around them. Ugh. He’d rather watch paint dry than entertain the idea of having to participate in these “social” events. Imagining all the work he could be doing instead? It was a waste of time.

But he’s more scared of the idea of disappointing his bosses than doing those things. So he just nods in resignation. 

“I understand.” He sighs glumly, looking up wearily into Steuben’s eyes. The man softens, reaching out to ruffle his hair once again. 

“All will be well, Alex. Take it in your stride! I believe in your abilities. I’m sure you’ll find means of getting along with Jefferson this weekend.” Alexander cocks an eyebrow at that cryptic statement and Steubens just lets out his signature guwaff and slaps him across the back, causing alex to lurch forward in surprise. 

“I’m off then! Coffee is calling me. Enjoy the rest of your day, now!” the older man says, pulling himself up and smoothing out the crinkles in his suit. He’s about to open his laptop when the man suddenly leans forward and gestures to a man in the corner of the room, working the machine. “Alexander, you wouldn’t happen to know who that man is, would you?” 

Alexander fights the urge to break into a laugh. 

“I do believe that gentleman’s name is Oliver.” He grins. ‘ _ Nice ass’ _ , he adds in his head. He watches with amusement as his boss claps him on the back with a  _ thanks _ before padding over to Oliver and wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulder. 

_ Sorry John, looks like Steubens just stole your date _ , he thinks with a chuckle under his breath, shaking his head as he watches the two men walk out of the lounge together. 

He continues his work, sipping periodically on his now stone cold coffee. It’s not long until he feels a familiar energy flood into the room. Alex rolls his eyes fondly in response to the loud laughter that follows, echoing around the lounge.

It’s Laf and John alright. 

They’re both smiling broadly at one another. Laf is looking effortlessly good as fucking always, shrugging off his navy coat and clutching a brown paper bag to his chest. He recognises the French logo and feels his mouth water in anticipation at the prospect of eating warm pastries. It’s been way too long since he’d had anything other than soggy cereal or toast. 

Alexander beams and waves the two over.  

“Mon petit lion! It has been way too long!” the frenchman cries, rushing forward to kiss both his cheeks passionately. “We ‘ave bought you some croissants. Good ones, yes?”

“And some hella good coffee,” John adds with a smile, setting down the hot drink in front of him. Alexander wraps his hands appreciatively around the warmth from the papercup and shoots the two a grateful look. “Just how you like it. Long black. No sugar. Extra hot.” Apparently some part of statement John seems to find highly amusing as his words round off with a snicker. Alex just raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. 

Fucking John. What’s going on in that mind of his, he’ll never know. 

“So, give me all the details. How was France? Any good lays? I heard the French are very  _ talented _ with their tongues”, Alex smirks, leaning forward to slap his friend on the back. 

“ _ Alexander,  _ I am French. I would know this.” Lafayette curls his mouth up in a catlike smirk, buttering his croissant before popping a piece in his mouth. “I was certainly, how you say...  _ admiring _ the merchandise. But, as you are aware, my affections are held by a certain American man.” 

John sighs dramatically, clutching his hand to his chest before shooting Alexander a love-struck look.  _ “Hercules”  _ he sighs dramatically, fluttering his eyelashes. The frenchman’s eyebrow twitches and Alexander watches in amusement as the man shoves John. 

“Wait,  _ Hercules?  _ As in Hercules  _ Mulligan?”  _ Alex splutters, wide eyed at the news. “The  _ water cooler guy? _ ” 

John just loses it, smashing his fist against the table and back shaking with laughter. “ _ Yes!”  _ He cries out, muffled against the hardwood of the coffee table. Lafayette smacks him upside the head again, face flushing in embarrassment. 

“I ‘ave no idea why you find this so amusing,  _ mon chou.  _ The man is a fine specimen.” 

Alex just bursts into laughter. Of course, how didn’t he see this before? He recalls months ago in the peak of summer -- when the water cooler was out of order for the whole day and the entire staff were practically dying of thirst. 

Alex had just walked into the office kitchen to check on whether it had been miraculously fixed when he was met with the sight of Lafayette, pressed up against the kitchen wall. He followed the man’s gaze and saw that he was blatantly staring at the water-cooler man’s ass, the man having bent over to fix the wiring on the machine. Alex just raised his eyebrow at the time, not thinking anything of the exchange as Laf shot him a wink and an eyebrow wriggle. 

“Oh my god. How did I not see this coming?” Alexander shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Wait a second... was that  _ you  _ who unplugged the water cooler that day?” 

Lafayette just grins at that with a playful shrug and Alexander hisses, chucking the paper bag at his head in annoyance. “ _ God _ , Laf. The whole floor died of thirst just so you could stare at a man’s fucking ass.”

“In his defense,” John starts, face pressed against the table with an impish grin, “he  _ does _ have a nice ass.” 

“You are not allowed to say that anymore.” Laf tsks, drawing his coffee to his lips shyly. “I ‘ave a date scheduled with ‘im next week.” 

“Christ! How did that happen?” Alex exclaims, almost choking on his coffee in his shock.

Laf fills them in on the details. Some shifty club, a lot of cheap shots and drunken grinding somehow ended up with the frenchman in Mulligan’s bed. Alex slightly tunes out at the more… intimate of details, but smiles regardless at happy energy the man is exuding.

He’s happy for him. God knows he’s been pining for so damn long for him. He’s needed a new beau. Especially since things broke off with Adrienne so suddenly.

Laf is in the middle of a particularly long-winded conversation about Herc’s  _ “technique _ ” when Jefferson saunters through the chalet doors and this time Alex actually chokes on his croissant at the sight of him. 

He’s standing there in a magenta ski jacket pulled over a grey turtleneck, one arm wrapped around a black snowboard. A pair of sky blue ski goggles sit on the top of his head, pulling the curly hair off of his face and giving Alex a view of the man’s intoxicating brown eyes. 

Not fair. Shit. Fuck.

Alexander is shaken out of his trance by the frenchman pulling himself up from his chair, pushing forward to greet the man with a big hug.

“Thomas! It is so nice to see you,  _ mon tigre. _ ” 

“Likewise, Gil.” Jefferson smiles warmly back down at the man and Alex feels his stomach churn at the sight. Again, the sight of Jefferson displaying candid human emotion is scary and foreign and he can’t convince himself to regard it as normal. 

“Off to a fashion show? What is it, Winter Wonderland 2017?” Alex snickers, hoping to get a rise out of Jefferson. The man just ignores him, waving his hand dismissively in Alex’s direction. Really?

Alex continues his taunts despite the obvious dismissal, “I was actually under the impression that this was a business conference. Y’know, some modesty would be a great look on you.” 

At that, the taller man swerves around. “Look, Hamilton, have you even  _ seen _ what you’re wearing? And you’re really callin’ me out on what I’m looking like?” He bristles that and loads a response to fire back but instead watches as Laf brings up a steady hand to his shoulder, turning the man back to him and straightening his jacket with a smile. 

“Well I for one, think you look very handsome.” Laf soothes, relieving some of the tension in Jefferson’s stance.

The man preens under the attention. “Thanks Gil, at least  _ someone _ has taste,” he shoots Alex a pointed look at that. He returns the glare, shooting daggers at the man. If looks could kill, here’s hoping that the man drops dead now.

“Hey man, if you were planning on heading up to the slopes, Laf and I were gonna head up at 11. Did’ya want to come with?” Laurens pipes up from the table.

The strangest thing happens.

Jefferson promptly shoots John a look of pure _annoyance_ , as if he were scum on the bottom of his brand new expensive shoes. 

“No thank-you, Mr. Laurens” he says curtly.

Alexander’s about to yell at the asshole on what the fuck his problem is, but swallows it down at the expression on the taller man’s face. He’s not gonna lie - his curiosity is piqued when he notices the tightly clenched fists at Jefferson’s sides releasing as he overtly takes a breath to steady himself.

“I mean, sorry. I have plans with the other company members. Perhaps I’ll see you up there, though.” The Virginian says coldly.

Alex shares a confused look with Laf at the hard stare that the two men are sharing. Electricity practically sparks around the room. John’s eyes are dancing with impish amusement while Jefferson is glaring daggers down at him. It goes on for a beat too long before John breaks off their little staring contest, leaning back with a shrug. 

“Alright. We’ll catch you later then man.” 

“Will do.” 

With that, Jefferson just pats Laf on the shoulder once more before making his way over to the other side of the lounge where a few people have gathered. They regard him and immediately the signature fake smile is plastered back on the man’s face and Alexander sighs in relief at the familiarity of it all. 

Still...

_ It wasn’t like Jefferson to lose his temper with anyone other than him _ , Alex thinks, evaluating the strange exchange he had just witnessed. 

“What’s his damage?” Alex scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. John just smirks at that, pushing himself up from the table with both hands before flicking him on the nose. 

“Nothing you need to worry ‘bout Alex.” John assures with a wink. 

Lafayette just looks between the two of them before throwing his hands up in the air. “ _ I leave for 4 months _ …” 

“You will fill me in on details. Now.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it was on the shorter side this week! i had a really hectic week so i didn't end up being able to write much. anyway, since the part in the snow is gonna be hella long... it seemed like a good place to end it. 
> 
> as ALWAYS please please dear god comment --- you all made me so happy commenting last chapter lmk your thoughts!!
> 
> also come yell at me on instagram/tumblr @vvhiny :--)
> 
> see you next week!


	4. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander gets dragged to the slopes and does not have a good time.

By the time they manage to drag Alex kicking and screaming out his hotel room it’s 11:30AM, much later than Laf and John had initially planned. This was largely attributed to the simple fact that Alex owned no appropriate attire for trudging around in the snow, let alone _participating_ in some  _winter goddamn sports_. Sure, Alexander also blames the fact that he had no time to come up with a perfect excuse that would convince his friends to let him stay back at the chalet instead of venturing out into the freezing cold, but alas. 

'I mean, _c'mon',_ Alexander reasons,  folding his arms across his chest. Why would he? He had come here to work and work _only._ He'd definitely not packed his bags up and messed up his carefully planned daily routine to partake in activities involving copious amounts of freezing wet _snow_. He had more important shit to do. 

Alex huffs at the thought. He thought that’d be a valid excuse. Y’know, not having clothes appropriate enough to go out frolicking in the snow, especially in this fucking cold. Oh, and the fact that this was meant to be a _business event._ The man hadn’t brought much beyond the means of his weathered green “casual formal” suit for the business dinners and his old but ridiculously comfortable loungewear that he'd stolen from John for staying up until the early hours of the morning to catch up on work. In turn, he blindly trusted his intuition that  _work_  on a _work weekend_  would be a valid enough excuse to get him out of it.

Let’s just say his intuition was wrong.

“C’mon Lex, don’t pull that face! You look good! Like a wrapped up teddy bear!” John had snickered behind his hand when Alex had stepped out of the small bathroom.

Laf had just pulled a face, eyeing him up and down before releasing a resigned sigh, fingers massaging his temples. “Let us go now. We are wasting the daylight.”

Which brings him to now, swamped in John’s oversized puffy bottle-green ski jacket, a grey beanie which did a practically _piss-poor_ job of keeping his ears warm and black thermal pants that honestly felt more like leggings with how much they clung to Alex’s body. He felt like some sort of twisted human mushroom -- wearing a massive jacket over pants that were practically cutting off the circulation in his legs but still somehow managed to pool at his ankles. Fuck John and his tiny-ass waist. Alexander was slim but that was  _inhuman._

It’s not his fucking fault that he didn’t have money to fork out on expensive clothes, Alexander thought bitterly, stomping through the snow. Laf looked like a runway model as always, wearing his own smooth burgundy beanie that he had proudly boasted was stolen off Hercules and a sleek navy blue jacket that hugged his biceps. John was just wearing the same that he did the day before, looking like a mess of shrinky black and red in a puffy ski jacket, black ski goggles peeking out over soft his brown curls.

 

In turn, he had managed to last around 20 minutes outside before he resigned to sitting in the powdery snow, pouting and wrapping his arms tightly around his small frame, partly to keep warm and partly to flatten down the ridiculous borrowed jacket that fitted like an oversized dress and made him almost double in size.

Well, he can’t fault them for effort. Lafayette and Laurens had tried to get him to snowboard with them, or ski at the least, but after one failed attempt left Alex face-first with a mouthful of snow and a subsequent roar of laughter from John, he’d decided against it. If they were just gonna laugh at him,  _fine._ Alexander was content to just sit back and watch. It's not like he was suited to this kind of environment anyway.

Alexander was never good at sitting back and watching.

' _I'm gonna best fucking snowman'_   he thinks with a determined smile, because why the fuck not. Maybe the snowman would be a better friend than Laf and John right now, forcing him out in this freezing hellhole.

While he’s pushing the snow and forming the body of the snowman, Alex eyes John and Laf making their way to the top of the ski slope, placing down their skis and snowboard respectively with a gentle thud. John clamps his feet securely into his board and Lafayette pulls on his goggles before Laf gives John a high five and propels his body forward.

The frenchman was swerving gracefully down the slope, winding and bending around the poles that the employees had set up for professional alpine skiing. He does some fancy-footwork thing that Alex didn't really understand how the hell he managed to execute, but it ended up looking impressive nonetheless, before skidding to a stop at the bottom with a wave to Alex and a wide grin. Alexander just forces a smile and pulls up 6 fingers with a teasing shrug, scoring the Frenchman’s display. He smirks in amusement as Laf recoils, tugging a hand to his chest like Alex’s actions had personally wounded him. Well, hey. If the only reason they brought him along was to boast their talent, then he would be their toughest judge.

Then it was John's turn. He’d heard that Laurens had been good at snowboarding from Laf’s enthusiastic texting a few years when they had gone on vacation together, but in action? He was nothing short of incredible, somehow managing to bringing his knees impossibly high to his chest, springing into the air, doing an impressive spin all before landing smoothly onto the snow. The way his body maneuvered around the board forced Alex to pinch himself to remind his fluttering heart that they’d broken up. Just seeing John like this, in his element, determination etched into every line of his face, caused Alexander's breath to catch painfully in his throat. Broken up. Yep. 

He allows himself to linger his gaze on John's form, breathlessly watching as his best friend effortlessly launches himself into the air, jumps and twists the final ramp before easing himself back to solid ground and coming to a stop just one metre away from Alex. A cold and unwelcome spray of snow from John’s board hits Alexander's face like a whip, snapping him abruptly out of his John-filled reverie. Alex jumps back cursing,

 _'Childish son of a -- god, this was why they broke up'_ he chides himself, although the image of John skillfully working that snowboard is still burning into his head, causing Alex to flush in his a cheeks. The freckled man lets out a soft chuckle as he watches Alex brush the snow off his body.

“So, How’d I do?”, John asks, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Alex takes one look at John’s goofy face and grimaces, pulling out his middle finger. John pouts for a second and Lafayette lets out a snort of laughter from the distance.

Still, the sight of John looking like a kicked puppy whilst Lafayette dances around him makes his heart twang in his chest.

"Ok, I changed my mind."

Begrudgingly, Alexander pulls out 9 fingers. John grins this dorky grin and Laf gasps in indignation, trudging up to join them before shoving John down into the snow before huffing and picking up his skis. John just laughs back up at Alex, throwing his arms in the air. "I win!" Laurens says cheekily, picking up his snowboard and rushing back up to join a huffing Laf. 

Alex’s heart skips a beat at the sight of that familiar grin and he feels his body betray him. Desperately, he brings up a fistful of snow to cool his rapidly reddening cheeks.

_'Goddammit man, calm yourself down.'_

He busies himself with his snowman for the next 30 minutes, managing to shape some sort of malformed stumpy figure, though he's not entirely sure what he's doing. He’s just searching for some sticks to make the arms when a flash of magenta appears out of the corner of his eye. He looks up and is met with the sight of Jefferson, Madison and a group of associates standing at the top of the slopes.

Madison has his arms folded across his chest, as always, a large scarf wrapped around his shoulders and mouth. Jefferson stands pridefully next to him, exuding that ridiculous air or superiority as he lays down his snowboard. Alex rolls his eyes at the sight and resigns to adding some stones to form the lumpy snowman’s mouth but can’t help but drag his eyes back up to Jefferson standing there. He’s much too far down the slopes to make eye contact with them, but he watches closely as Madison’s blurry figure places a careful hand on Jefferson’s shoulder and says something in his ear. The taller man just nods and smiles back at him before kicking back on his heels and starting down the slopes and--

 _Woah_.

He’s nothing like John. John’s snowboarding is natural talent - the way his body swerves on the snowboard is all strong muscle movement and spontaneous jumps that have him somehow effortlessly gliding down the slopes at maximum speed. John happens to snowboard for the thrill of it - the sensation and cool rush of being high up in the frosty air and then dipping his body close to snowy ground. 

Jefferson snowboards differently. Where John is brash, Jefferson is careful. His body swerves and coils around the snow in a precise movement that seems as if each movement is calculated. He snowboards like he's solving a problem, that achieving an angle will propel you just high enough off the ground to land the right feet ahead--

He catches himself staring for too long and mentally slaps himself, turning his eyes back to the snowman.

_'Yeah, that’s right. Sticks for arms--'_

If anyone caught him dragging his gaze to stare back at Jefferson again he’d firstly deny it. If they happened to pull together some incriminating proof? Well, he’d tell them that it was only cause Jefferson's obnoxiously loud purple silhouette happened to be really fucking distracting. It wasn’t as if Jefferson was any good at snowboarding anyway - John had more talent than Thomas did on every stupid snow-related winter-sport front. So why couldn’t Alexander tear his eyes away?

Wait, hold up. _Alexander Hamilton’s cheeks were_ ** _not_** _flushing right now._

 _'Ok, so Jefferson is hot'_ , Alex admits to himself, aggressively pressing a fistful of snow into the snowman’s side. That was a fact he _couldn’t_ deny. Alexander was many things, but a liar? No. His position in the company was one which required the most trust. He couldn’t afford to lie.

Anyone with two functioning eyes could see that the man was attractive as hell. The asshole had a body practically carved out by God himself. The way his body moves so efficiently with the snowboard, like one and the same - the way his muscles flex perfectly as he lands jumps... it almost makes it seem as if he were a protagonist pulled straight from those cheesy rom-com that Laf adores so much.  Before Hamilton realises it, the whole world seems to have stopped, Jefferson becoming the centre of the universe, bordered with white snow…

At least, this was his line of _thinking_ before the fucker himself did a careful swerve in his direction before coming to a smooth halt in front of him with a smirk. He pulls the sky blue googles off his eyes and shakes his hair of snow before giving Alex his signature catlike smirk.

“Enjoying the view are we, Hamilton? Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

He can't believe the nerve of this fucker. To think 5 seconds ago he would have _considered_ dropping to his knees and singing praises to the man’s dick. God, what was he thinking?

“Oh yeah, Tommy! You’re _so_ attractive, I’m practically _jizzing_ my pants from the sight of you swerving down those slopes.” Alexander scoffs. In the back of his mind he’s aware he probably looks ridiculous --  crouched in front of the snowman and all--  but he continues,

“In fact, I really, _really_ get off on that jacket too. It’s a particularly _heinous_ shade of purple - I thought daddy’s trust fund came with a fashion advisor?”.

He delights in the twitch of Jefferson’s smirk, his stupid grin faltering for a few seconds before the taller man turns around and plunges his hand down into the snow. He pulls up a large, triangular rock and examines it carefully before tossing up and down in the palm of his hand.

“Y’know, Hamilton, you do have a tendency to yap on and on.”

He watches as Jefferson pads his way towards him, glancing down at the rock in his hand and for a split second Alex thinks that he’s gonna hurl it in his face. It wouldn't be the first time they'd got into a physical fight, after all. That had been a singular occurrence one year back after a heated drunken debate got a bit _too_ personal. Both men hadn't left unscathed, Alexander managed a broken nose and he had given Jefferson a black eye. They'd agreed that it was a stupid idea, but regardless Alexander  prepares himself on the off chance that the taller man really is remarkably stupid enough to do something to risk them both their jobs.

Instead, to his surprise, Jefferson crouches down beside his snowman. He pulls back with a contemplative look, glancing down at the rock in his hand.

“Look, asshole, you can fuck with me but don’t you _dare_ touch my snowma--”

“Y’see, you got the nose wrong.” Jefferson interrupts, not even looking at him. “The eyebrows are correct - they’re angry-lookin’ as usual, but your nose? Darlin’, that’s more angular. Bird-like, if I’d have to comment on it.” He pulls the small rock nose off the snowman with ease before shoving the triangular rock in place in the center of the face. He fixes Hamilton a calculated look before pulling off his own scarf and wrapping it snugly around the snowman’s face so the rock-nose just peeks out over the fabric.

“There we are! The resemblance is uncanny,” the man snorts, pulling up to his feet and fixing Hamilton with a shit-eating grin before pulling his goggles back on. Alexander tempted to take that rock and give Jefferson a gentle reminder of his exceptional pitcher skills and crack open the back of his head, red would be a pretty colour in the snow, after all- but Jefferson clamps his feet back onto the snowboard and interrupts his train of thought.

“Do return the scarf though, Hamilton. That’s a limited edition Burberry and it happens to be worth _much_ , _much_ more than your entire pathetic wardrobe, let alone your useless role in this company. Good day!” Jefferson pushes off and continues down the slope, leaving Hamilton with a half formed retort still at the tip of his tongue, anger painted all over his face.

Alexander is going to burn the scarf, then all of  Jefferson’s precious papers, then the man himself.

 

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 

 

It’s a couple of hours later before Alexander finally manages to convince both Laf and John to step away from the snow and retreat to the warmth of the ski lounge. It hadn’t been an easy feat, since Alexander had been grumbling all afternoon, especially after that encounter with Jefferson, but he managed to strike a cord with Laf after mentioning that he hadn't eaten since breakfast and was feeling hungry. At those words, Laf’s motherly instincts kicked in and he pulled Alexander up to the top of the hill with a _“Non, non, you eat much too little, we must hurry quickly now”_ with John grumbling in tow.

They’re all in the warm wooden lounge now, watching through big windows at the expanse of pine trees and the chittering mill of people outside below them, all either starting to skate down the slopes or tiredly trudging back up. Alexander wraps his hands appreciatively around his warm coffee and relishes in the warmth tingling away the cold lingering from the snow.

Ahh, yes. This was much better. He needed a break from the cold, Laf and Laurens’ stupid competition and that _stupid purple-loving fuckwit_ \--

“So, _Alexandré_ \--” Lafayette starts, cutting off his thoughts. Alexander looks up to see the man curling a hand underneath his jaw and fixing him with a grin, “You and _mon tigre_ ? I saw you both this afternoon in ze snow, yes? I could not hear everything, much to my _désespoir_ , but I could feel the tension between you two.” He smiles and brings his hot chocolate to his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Do not, how you say... skip the details, no?”

For fucks sake.

Alex lets out a resigned sigh at Laf’s antics and considers knocking some sense into the man, but instead vouches to take a careful sip of the coffee, making sure it won’t burn his tongue.

“Look Laf, you’ve been indulging in too many American soaps. Welcome to the Real World.”

The taller man leans back in his chair, fingers swirling around the edge of the mug. “Ah yes, I will admit that I have an affinity for your dramas but --” he stalls, looking out the window, “I know love when I see it” he breathes, letting out a long-drawn sigh. “He put his scarf around your snowman, _mon ami_ … is that not a sign of _love_?”

Alex spits out his coffee at that in indignation, slamming the mug back down on the table. “Firstly, Laf, he fucked up my snowman and insulted me whilst doing so, and then proceeded to mock me and my actual worth to the _company, which is more than he ever will have, by the way--_ ” Alex splutters, gesturing wildly and trying to swallow the panic down at the fact that _Laf had seen Jefferson with him._

“Secondly, with that _love_ crap? Yeah, you said that same thing with John and I too, and look where we are one year later”, Alexander says, rolling his eyes and playfully swatting John on the shoulder. The freckled man lets out small chuckle but surprisingly doesn’t meet Alex’s eyes, instead distractedly staring out the window, finger tapping out an irregular rhythm on the table.

For a second, he think John didn't hear them, but he speaks up. “Well, I mean, at least we gave it a go--” John trails contemplatively, pausing for a few seconds before perking and turning back to Alex with a broad grin.  “So I guess it’s high time for you to make some _moooves_ on good ol’ Mr. Jefferson then, huh? I’m beginning to wonder whether you have a thing for Southerners. Perhaps Madison is next?”

“ _Hell no,_ John.”

Alex notices Lafayette’s concerned frown and wonders on whether the man actually believes he’d ever have a thing for Madison -- wait, he doesn’t have a thing for Jefferson either, but -

“ _Laf,_ don’t worry about me. I don’t need romance in my life. Not with Madison, not with John-- _that ship sailed already_ ,” he adds and Laurens shifts in his chair, “and _definitely_ not with that self righteous, trust fund, broccoli head motherfucker who can’t seem to get his head out of his ass and think of people other than _his goddamn self._ ”

The frenchman blinks back at him with wide surprised eyes before he lets out a soft chuckle to himself, shaking his head. “Ah, Alex, _mon ami,_ I am not worried for the reasons you think. I am worried because you do not see _it_.”

Alex looks at Laf with a puzzled expression, and catches John stiffening before shifting uncomfortably. “It? What is  _it?"_ he flicks his gaze between the two who seem to be having a silent conversation in which Alex cannot understand, Laf looking again at John with concern, John in return fixing Laf with a glare of dismissal covered up with a strained smile. Alex swears he sees a sad expression ghost John’s face for just a second, and Alex furrows his brow quizzically.

Hold up, wait, did John have a thing for _Laf_ now?

“Am I missing something here?” Alex deadpans, gesturing wildly between the two men. He waits until they have seemingly finished their silent exchange before Laf turns to Alex, giving him a strong friendly pat on the shoulder.

“For a smart man, _mon_   _petit lion_ , there is a lot that you do not see.” Lafayette sighs.

“Are you two fucking or-” Alex begins but is interrupted by John abruptly standing up from his seat, his familiar grin back on his face.

“More coffee anyone?”, John announces, before hurriedly walking away towards the counter.

Laf falters under Alex’s expectant gaze after a few seconds and tugs on his own turtleneck with a sigh. “John is an attractive man, and we have had _moments_ before a long, long time ago, as you know, but did I not just tell you just this morning about myself and Hercules--”

Alex looks at him with wide eyes, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, “You’re all going POLY? _God_ , I mean I know Hercules is kind of hot in a water-cooler man kinda way, but I thought John was more of an exclusive guy--”

His train of speech is interrupted with the sound of a _thud_ and he stares down as Lafayette slams his forehead against the table repeatedly.

“Idiots. The both of you.” he sighs, before dramatically gesturing to the ceiling, “ _Merde,_ I am surrounded by clueless. idiots.” He collapses against the table again, flopping his tall arms over the counter. “Tell me John is on his way back with some herbal tea, _si vous plait_.”

 _God, the snow is making everyone go insane_ , Alex thinks, scanning the cozy lodge for John’s figure. He spots him in line to order, shifting from foot to foot and typing frantically on his phone. In his search, however, he also happens to spot both Madison and Thomas sitting the table across from them. Fuck, they didn’t hear anything did they…?

Madison looks up from his newspaper, sensing Alex’s bug eyed stare, and shoots him a disapproving  before flicking his eyes back to the paper.

So, Madison probably heard something. Fuck.   
  
Meanwhile, Thomas-- no, _Jefferson_ is scribbling down on a piece of paper. Alex watches him curiously, before the man pulls the paper up to his face with a deadpan look.

 _Broccoli head? Really?_ Stares back at him in obnoxious cursive. Alex grits his teeth and shoots him the middle finger back and Jefferson just shrugs callously, raising his tea to his mouth with a frown and a raised eyebrow.

God he can’t wait to go home.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Two cups of coffee and a herbal tea later, Alex feels the familiar finger twitches that he typically gets when he hasn’t gotten his hands on a pen for a few hours. John had tried to convince them to try a different spot, one that he said had smooth snow that _“promised an excellent snowman making experience”_  with an eyebrow wiggle and a wink. Thankfully, Laf had taken pity on Alex and said that he felt a migraine coming on and just wanted to have a nap. That, and he whispered something in Johns ear that had him perk up with a grin, so with two against one, they made their way over to the chair lift on the way down. 

He immediately remembers why he hates winter when he steps outside of the café lodge. The sun that was beaming brightly down before conveniently decides now to hide behind a thick cloud, so suddenly everything seemed a million degrees cooler. The frosty air dances against Alex’s skin, and, wrapped in only John’s borrowed clothes, he finds the puffy material is not quite enough to keep the bitter cold from seeping into his clothes and making him shiver. 

Alexander breathes on his cold fingers before shoving his hands deep in his pockets in a desperate attempt to regain some warmth. Only, there’s something is in his right pocket. It feels soft against his fingertip and he curiously pulls the offending item out of his pocket.

It’s Jefferson’s stupid scarf.

Alex must have made a verbal sound of disgust because Laf and John pull up to check on him. “Oh, that is a very cute scarf! That is a limited edition Burberry, no?” Laf coos, taking the expensive fabric from his hands. Immediately, the disgust he had just felt melts away, and Alexander has to stop himself from whining at the loss of the feeling of it. It really did feel so smooth and warm against his hands--

“Thomas has very nice taste,” Laf continues, turning the scarf appreciatively in his hands before glancing back at the shorter man. “You must be freezing, no? You have no scarf.” Before Alex can protest, Laf wraps the scarf snugly around Alex’s neck so his nose just peeks out over the fabric. “It suits you too, _petit lion_. Blue brings out your brown eyes.”

Alex makes a movement to rip the scarf off, but the taller man had somehow managed to wrap it so snugly around his neck that it took the cool edge off the cold air perfectly. That, and It smelt faintly of expensive cologne and fresh pine... 

He'll return the scarf later. 

The wait for the chair lift ends up being quite long, as it seems most people seem to be resigning from the snow for the day. It makes sense, after all. Not everyone could accomplish John’s boundless energy.

Alex spots a familiar group of associates as well as some other faces he doesn’t recognise  ahead in the line, as well, he thinks with a groan, Madison and Jefferson. 

He steers clear from their gaze - he doesn't want anyone to recognise him with Jefferson's scarf, after all, and obediently follows John and Laf to the back of the line. Wait, no, not the back? He pads behind them confusedly as they make their way over to Jefferson and Madison, who happen to be halfway through. Alex lets out a loud groan, causing John to look around, a sly grin spread across his face.

“James, Thomas! What a welcome surprise to find you ‘ere”, Laf calls, reaching out to the two Virginians with open arms. “Would you mind if we join you and, erm, _slice the line_? Alex is quite cold.”

“I think you mean “ _cut the line_ ”, Gil. I’m sure we can make room for poor, _poor_ Hamilton.” Jefferson remarks, the latter half of his sentence dripping with disdain. “Poor  _lil_  guy now, we wouldn’t want you to freez-- wait, _is that my fucking scarf?”_

“What of it?” Alexander huffs, folding his arms across his chest.

Quickly as a snake, Jefferson reaches over to Alex, snatching the tail end of the scarf and pulling. Alex lets out a startled strangled noise as the fabric tightens around his neck, forcing him to relent and spin around twice, not unlike an ungraceful ballerina, to unravel the scarf from his neck.

“What the _fuck_ is your _problem,_ Jefferson!”, Alex practically shouts back at the man, who is now nonchalantly wrapping the scarf around his own neck.

“Thanks for keeping my scarf warm, Hamilton”, Jefferson gives Alex a sarcastic smile and quickly diverts his attention to Madison who is deep in discussion with Laf about some business scheme or something.

Alex lets out an angry growl-like sound and looks around to find John, so as not to look a complete fool after the ridiculous stunt Jefferson pulled. He spots the freckled man a few metres ahead, seemingly chatting up the guy who runs the chairlift.

' _T_ _ypical John',_ Alex thinks to himself, shaking his head from side to side. However, this time John makes a strange move, different to his usual slick talk and charismatic charm he pulls out for flirting. Alex squints in confusion as he watches John slip something into the guy’s pocket. It looked like some paper. His number maybe? The guy wasn't particularly attractive... unless John was into older, balding men all of a sudden.  He continues to stare as John points over in his direction, then gives the guy a wide smile and shakes his hand. _What the fuck?_ Alex shirks off the weirdness of the exchange, and boils it down to just a new tactic in John’s flirting repertoire, he’s always changing it up anyway. Perhaps the guy knows his work? He is quite well known around New York, after all... 

Alex spends the remainder of the wait in the line, approximately five minutes, talking business with his fellow associates. Laf happened to be busy still discussing something or other with Madison, and John was lingering towards the back having a avid discussion about snowboarding techniques with a man Alexander didn't recognise. Despite being alone, perhaps this could be a chance to sway some associates to talk to Mr Schuyler about that funding. It would give him an advantage over Jefferson at least while also meaning he could avoid having direct confrontation over the issue with the asshole himself. 

Finally the time comes for their turn on the chairlift. Before he can call out to Frenchman, Laf and Madison have already moved in front to sit together on a chair to continue their conversation. A few more associates pair off and get on the lift as Alex desperately searching the line for John.

“Where the fuck did he go…”, He mutters under his breath.

In his agitated search John, Alex turns his head back towards the front of the line and spots him sitting next to the same man as before. John turns around in his sitting position to give Alex a wave and jerks his head to the right, giving a mischievous wink. Alex looks in the direction of the gesture and, to his utter displeasure, finds Jefferson standing next to him, looking tall and obnoxious in his purple ski gear and cozy ass scarf and staring distractedly down at his phone.

Oh no, he _didn’t._

“You have _got_ to be kidding me--!”

At the sound of Hamilton's voice, Jefferson looks up from his phone and visibly recoils. 

“Oh, _hell no_ ” the taller man hisses, backing away from Hamilton and glancing back at the line wildly in a desperate attempt to find someone to switch with.

Hamilton makes a quick move to jerk away from the man, find anyone, _god, literally anyone_ other in the line but before he can act a firm hand is clasped to both of their shoulders.

“Step this way gentlemen, the next lift is about to arrive-” the same balding ski employee remarks, and Hamilton swears he can see a smirk flash on the man's face before it returns to carefully neutral as he firmly guides the protesting men to the line.

“Hey, _hey, mind the jacket--”_

_“No-- woAH”_

The two men’s complaints are is interrupted by the chair lift sweeping underneath their legs, lifting them up and forcing him to sit back against the chair.The motion happens so quickly that Alexander finds himself reaching out subconsciously to cling to his nearest lifeline, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Alexander lets out a _manly_  squeak of surprise as they’re both suddenly lifted up into the cool air. 

There's a pregnant pause before a voice interrupts the silence. 

“Hamilton, I’m gonna give you exactly 5 seconds to get your filthy hands off me.”

Alexander peels open his eyes, and, to his horror, realised that in his state of panic he’d clung like a leech onto _Jefferson’s_ fucking _arm._

He pulls back as if burned, driving as much space between himself and the other man as a two-person chair lift would allow.

 _'Motherfucking_ _John Laurens’_ Alexander hisses to himself, thudding his burning face against the cool steel. Why did it have to be Jeffershit, of all people?

“I’m finding this as pleasant as you are, asshole” the man hisses back, folding his arms across his chest. Ok, so Alex must have said that out loud. “Do keep quiet anyway. The lift is only 10 minutes long, and knowing how _insufferable_ you are, if you just keep your damn mouth shut we should have no issues.”

“Gladly. As If I want to hear your stupid voice anyway” Alexander grits his teeth and turns his back to Jefferson, instead looking down at endless snow and dotted pine trees beneath his feet. The cool breeze is rushing through Alex’s hair and stinging his eyes and Alex has to blink back and retreat into his bottle green jacket. Fuck it was cold.  

The sooner they get off this goddamn lift the better.

It’s probably been about 5 minutes of preoccupying his thoughts on what line would fit perfectly in his fourth edit of his when suddenly the ski lift makes a sick churning noise before swaying to a halt.

After a couple of agonizing minutes, a tinny voice sounds from the speakers above.

_“Patrons, we must apologise for the inconvenience. There seems to be an issue with the chair lift at the present time. We will keep you updated on any further developments.”_

No, this was _not happening._

Jefferson spits out a string of curses beside him and Alexander groans, hitting his head against the steel bar.  
  
_Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated the fic. Life kind of got in the way and I got distracted with some other things, (particularly my art account and classes). To make up for it, there's 5.5k for you!
> 
> I do want to mention that I almost, almost didn't come back to this fic, but your sweet comments really motivated me to pick up? my laptop I guess and start writing again. (That and my best friend, who wrote some bits/beta'd this fic, thank you to her!)
> 
> so, if you want another chapter, could you leave a comment? :-----) please? :--------) i mean it don't be an ass-- leave a comment please holy moly 
> 
> thanks again! I'll try to update this within the next two weeks, but again... comments fuel me to continue!


	5. Chair Lift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is pretty self-explanatory. Alex and Thomas get stuck on a chair lift.

“Oh, _great_ _._ Just my luck that I get stuck on a dingy ski lift in the middle of nowhere with _Thomas Jefferson_ of all people." Alexander mutters under his breath, tapping fingers restlessly against the cool steel to scratch at the itching feeling to move, move _move._ “Just how badly did I fuck up in a past life to possibly deserve this?”

“Would you quit the pathetic mumbling? I'm beginning to wonder whether you get off on acting like a brat.”

Alexander swerves around and shoots the Virginian two middle fingers, just to make the message clear. Jefferson fixes him an unimpressed look before letting out a weary sigh, fingers massaging his temples as if Alex were giving him a headache.

Good. 

“Look, I’m finding this just about as pleasant as you are. In fact, I can think of a lengthy list of things I’d rather do than be stuck up here with _Alexander Hamilton_ _of all people_ ” he parrots mockingly. Alex scoffs. 

“The sooner this ski lift-” Jefferson punctuates with a resounding knock on the steel canopy overhead - “gets its gears churning again, we’ll be out of each other's hair." He shoots him a sidelong glance. "Which is delightful idea in itself," he continues, arched lips curling into a stupid smile. "I'd want nothing more than wrench myself free from that oil slick."

“Excuse me?” Alex spits, the comment immediately getting under his skin. He feel his blood begin to boil so hot that the cool steel bar suddenly feels like it’s melting under his vice grip. “What did you say about my hair?”

Jefferson rolls his eyes, cheek resting boredly on his palm. He turns his attention down at the snow below, as if the expanse of blank whiteness beneath their feet was more engaging than talking to Hamilton. “Nothin, darlin'” The Virginian drawls monotonously.

“If you’re going to insult me, at least look me in the damn eye” Alexander hisses, teeth clenched. Who does the fucker think he is?

Thomas drags his eyes slowly back up before looking at him through inky black lashes. “You know exactly what I said. Or do I have to repeat myself for you?”

"Humour me. What the hell would you know about my hair?"

"I get to see it slicked back five miserable days a week. Trust me, I've had enough experience to form a proper judgement." 

Alexander bristles and bites down the strong urge to launch over to Thomas’ side of the seat and wring Jefferson's pretty little neck. They might both fall to their death, but Alex feels it'd be worth it.

Of course, he can't afford to die, so instead he inhales a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down. Feels the cold air tickle his throat which helps soothe the fire lapping inside.

_Deep breaths, Hamilton. The man means nothing._

“Y'know, your appearance explains why you’re so shitty at corporate events. Sure, you have your way with words - I’ll give you that, but what you provide in those speeches you lack in _eloquence._ ” Jefferson says, shooting him a discerning look.

“It’s a damn good move on Washington's part to place you in a department where you don’t have to make yourself known. You’re not good at this networking shit." He raises a perfect arched eyebrow in his direction.  "Which begs the question - why are you even here?”

“First of all, fuck you.” Alexander shoots back, irritated. “Second of all, I have more _eloquence_ in my left foot than you have in your entire body. Lastly? I’m doing this to represent W &S, of course. Which, last time I checked, was the driving reason _we were all called here_."

Jefferson scoffs. “Yeah, for most of us. But for you?” he shifts in his seat, dragging a finger along his own perfect jawline. “I know you, Hamilton. The mere mention of a compulsory 'ski resort' trip would have had you whipping up some elaborate excuse and a forged doctors certificate faster than John Adams could wolf his way through the cheese platter.”

The memory of Adams at the last event resurfaces and Alexander curses the snort he lets out under his breath. He sends out a silent prayer that Jefferson didn’t hear, but when he looks up and he’s met with a self satisfied smirk, he resigns to his fate. He rolls his eyes and smiles begrudgingly.  

“It’s damn true, that guy gravitates towards that platter like a moth to a light. Can’t even get close to food with him around. He's the reason Laf stopped bringing cheese to business events.”

Jefferson lets out a laugh that rings in the cool air. Alex gives a toothy grin in response, and when Jefferson's eyes duck down to his lips, smiling wider, Alex's heart does a weird flip in his chest.  

In fact, he could almost be convinced during moments like these that Jefferson was an actual human being and not some evil demon intent on ruining his life. The idea of that feels like a slap across the face, and he quickly brushes the notion aside, smile slipping off his face. This ski resort nightmare has happened to bring a lot of those moments in a short period of time, and the idea churns in his gut. He doesn't want to view Jefferson any differently. It makes hating him more complicated. 

Though, with his plush looking lips curved into a perfect smile and his deep brown eyes, it was hard not to admit that the man was attractive. Especially when he wasn’t being a piece of shit. It’s a shame that he just so happens to be a piece of shit ninety-nine percent of the time. So, Alex concludes internally, getting taken away by a smile like was a natural human reflex. That's all. 

They settle into a silence after that, only sound filling the empty space being the distant chatter of skier and the rustle of the pine trees below. Oddly enough, rather than hating the silence like he normally would, Alex stays silent. He relishes in the moment where they aren’t making barbed jabs at one another, where they could share a joke. An aftermath where they both smiled _together._ When Jefferson tilts his head over to send him a look, curly hair bobbing slightly to the side, that annoying feeling flickers in Alex’s chest yet again.

He doesn’t really want to give Jefferson the self-gratification that his causal psycho-analysis of him was right, but he did hit the nail on the head. Plus, maybe this was a sign that they could talk like normal colleagues, even for ten minutes. 

That, and perhaps he could get some dirt on Jefferson too. 

“I mean, guess you’re right” Alexander admits, staring down at his feet. Hopes that the chilly gust from the trees will somehow cool down the heat slowly building in his chest and face. “I didn’t really want to come.”

“Why come then? Did something change your mind?” Jefferson prompts softly, eyebrow raised in question. Doesn’t fail to notice how his lean body shifts ever so slightly closer, Jefferson’s hand inches away from his own.

Alexander jerks away quickly. Bringing his hands up to his face, he rubs them together to give him some warmth. Or at least, he hopes that's what it looks like to Jefferson. In reality, he can’t bear the thought of the Virginian knowing that it's him who's making him feel so flustered.

“Why do you care?” Alex says pointedly, rolling his eyes. “It was a stupid trap. A trap set byJohn Laurens, who apparently decided for himself that I needed a vacation.”

Almost as if they shared a psychic connection, John turns around from the ski chair infront. The freckled man waves at them with one hand and a grin. Of course, Alex flips him off because he just knows that it's his fault that he's stuck here with Jefferson. The man gasps, screwing his eyes shut and pulling a ridiculous pained expression. He watches as his friend leans his head on the man's shoulder next to him. Laughs in amusement as the other man leans away from John, clearly a stranger and getting uncomfortable with what was going on.

“Don’t be an ass!” he yells, cupping his hands like a megaphone in some lame attempt to make his voice travel far enough. Can’t help but laugh at John's childish antics when John flicks him a scout’s salute and a smile before turning back towards the slopes.

Even if John decided to spite him like this as payback for leaving early, he can't bring himself to get too annoyed. He's been there with Alex through it all and he's his dearest friend, so one lame prank won't get between them. He'll get him back somehow, maybe get him to spill about his thing with Laf and Hercules...

There’s a shuffling movement by his side that interrupts Alex's plotting. Oh, right. Jefferson. His mood sours again as he comes to terms with the fact that they're both still stuck on this stupid ski lift for an indefinite amount of time.

The Virginian looks at Alexander searchingly, expression shifting into something akin to a frown. Suddenly, the air feels off, as if the wind changed.

“I would have gotten someone else to go in my stead. Maybe even Burr, if I were desperate enough” Alexander says in a half-attempt to break the silence. Jefferson just looks at him dumbly as Alex rolls his eyes and continues. “John just happened to leave out the minor detail that the conference would be in freezing, snow-shit Whistle, nowhere-town.”

“It’s _Whistler_ ” Jefferson corrects like the fucking asshole he is.

“ _It’s Whistler_ ” Alex replies mockingly under his breath.

Jefferson’s smile falters and his face stiffens, mouth hardening into a thin line. It’s the typical token Jefferson expression when things don’t go his way and _this. This was_ _better_. This is what he was used to.

“Who’s moronic enough to get on a plane without knowing their destination?”

Alexander shrugs. “Didn’t see the point in looking into it, really. Just another business trip.”

Jefferson's broad shoulders heave upwards and Alex's words must have been  _perfect_  because the man turns away from him with an angry sigh. “God forbid I even attempt to have a normal conversation with you”.

“Is this a normal conversation to you, _Thomas?_ Are we friends now? That’s a surprising development especially considering _not even 5 minutes ago_ you basically told me to shut the hell up.” Alex shrugs, kicking his dangling legs up through the air. He'd rather silence than this. 

“God, you’re such a brat” Jefferson growls, turning away from him. Alexander hums in response, looking away. “Don’t say my first name, shithead. That's reserved for friends.” Jefferson adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Sorry,  _Thomas._ "

Jefferson opens his mouth in a retort but is interrupted by a buzz of a phone. He watches curiously as the man pulls an iPhone out from his pocket, thumbing the screen unlocked. He types out a quick message before locking the screen. A couple of seconds later, a second _buzz_ sounds and he watches as Jefferson breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

“Was that Laf?” Alexander says, just to be a nosey shit. He's got nothing better to do.

“Yeah, he was just saying that James is ok. He’s with Gil.”

“Nice” Alexander says, because he’s not sure how to respond to that.

He’s not quite sure about the relationship between Madison and Jefferson. Considering that they’re practically inseparable both in and out of the workplace, Alexander doesn’t doubt that they're closer than typical friends. In fact, if he hadn’t have met Dolley, Madison’s wife, at a business event this year, he would have assumed they were fuckbuddies or something.

Oh god, he didn't need that visual.

Silence stretches out between them after that for what feels like forever. The sun that had _so kindly_ poked through the clouds, giving him both some extra warmth, decided to conveniently disappear behind a thick cloud and everything feels twenty degrees colder. Alexander begins to shiver as an icy cool breeze blows through his hair, so he curls in on himself, teeth chattering.

“It’s been at least 20 minutes, when will this goddamn thing _move”_ he spits.

As if God himself were out to spite him, a slow trickle of snow begins to drift down gently around them.

“Great, _just great._ ”

He rubs his hands together, bringing them towards his mouth. It's some lame attempt at generating enough friction to warm up his cold fingers which does no good; the tips of his fingers are still icy even in the gloves. To top it off, his legs have started cramping up from the cold, John’s thermal pants no match for the icy change. He feels his body rattle like a human maraca in the cold. 

It doesn’t help that the man next to him has the dumb, ridiculously soft scarf wrapped around his neck. The tips of his ears are red from the cold and his black curls bounce off the sides of the scarf, but otherwise the man doesn’t look bothered by the cold at all. Alexander swallows down the jealousy.

He’s _Alexander Hamilton_ . He’s survived worse things in his life than some _snow_ and _cold._

“Are you cold?” Jefferson pipes up. Alexander rolls his eyes, knows he practically looks like a shrivelled up raisin at this point. Does it even seem like a question? The man's just mocking him. 

“Nah, never felt warmer” Alexander grits, teeth chattering. 

The last thing he wants to do is to have Jefferson pity or laugh at him. This whole situation is shitty in itself.

He blinks up in shock as the Virginian suddenly shifts, scooting his body towards the the centre of the chair. Alexander grabs onto the steel bar for balance as his feet drop out from the footrest beneath him, the chairlift rattling at the change in weight distribution.

“ _What the hell are you doing?”_ he squeaks, gripping the steel bar like a lifeline. “You’re tilting it!”

“Just shut up, Hamilton” Jefferson snaps, and before Alex can register what’s happening the man's scent floods his senses. Jefferson is leaning in close, gloved fingers brushing gently against his neck as he wounds the plush plaid fabric around him. 

He catches himself sinking into the warmth of the scarf immediately, eyes fluttering closed in relief. The fabric has a hint of  Jefferson's cologne and it smells nice, and it feels so warm. The man's fingers linger a beat longer, tucking the scarf into his jacket. 

It’s a half a second later that Alexander snaps his eyes open as he realises just _whose_ scarf it is. Nope. Not going there. He struggles weakly to wind the fabric off with frozen and shaky gloved fingers and manages to pry it free, shoving it back into Jefferson’s broad chest.

“I don’t _need_ your fucking _scarf,_ Jefferson” he snaps, although much of the venom is taken out from his voice with just how _fucking cold_ and embarrassed he is.  

“I thought I told you to shut up. You’re shaking like a leaf and it’s rattling the entire lift.” Jefferson shoots back, although Alex detects a strange undertone to his harsh words, like warmth slowly melting ice. Smiles despite himself. 

"Aw, you aren't concerned for me, are you Tommy?" Alex grins, catlike.

"You wish," Jefferson snorts, cheeks darkening. "I’d just rather not be stuck up here with your dead body when we eventually get down. Plus, if Washington caught wind that I let this precious CFO die of hypothermia, I'd probably lose my job." 

Alexander ends up two minutes later with his arms crossed in a huff as he begrudgingly lets the Virginian wrap the scarf around his neck once more. There are some battles he knows aren't worth it, and this is one. He'd rather not have stared death in the face time and time again only to die unremarkably on a ski lift with Jefferson.

Jefferson leans back to admire his scarf-tying job and Alex stops to marvel at the gentle, appreciative smile that forms slightly on his lips. Jefferson then nods, seemingly pleased with himself before turning his face away from him. Huh.

They stay like this for a while, or what feels like a while, sitting slightly too close for comfort, seeming that the man decided not to move back to his spot on the opposite side of the lift. He’s too close, Alex thinks, their fingers almost back to touching again, but at the same time not quite close enough for him to obtain any heat from Jefferson’s body. Not that he'd want to anyway.

When Jefferson’s pinky taps lightly against Alex’s accidentally, his fingers brush back reflexively. He swallows the random urge to curl his hand up to entwine his smaller fingers in the man’s large ones, just to see how they'd fit. Moves his hand away as soon as the thought surfaces. Locks it away into some dark corner. No. 

The scarf makes a difference in keeping Alex from freezing to death, but as the snow steadily fall heaviers, soon Alexander is back to shivering and chattering his teeth like a mad man. He tries to bury his head in the soft fabric, chin to his chest to keep warm, but the frosty air still licks at his ears.  A melodramatic part of him just believes that he’ll freeze to death on a ski hill in the middle of nowhere, on a stupid vacation he didn’t even agree to go on.

God _damnit John._

Alexander closes his eyes against the gentle fall of snow, icy flakes landing on his face. Jefferson was right, he swears that the lift is rattling underneath his shivering body. His toes burn painfully in his cheap boots.  Goddamnit he’s just _so fucking cold._ He’s toying around with the idea of spending the rest of his life on this chairlift. Not even achieving half the shit he set out to do. 

He’s so caught up in his own pissed off mood that he hardly registers the movement beside him and a firm warmth wrap around his shoulders. Too cold to realise what’s happening, body desperately seeking heat from _anywhere_ , he immediately leans into the warmth beside him, letting his head rest gently on the man’s chest. Alexander’s breath slowly evens out as he sighs in relief, can’t help but peel his eyes open after a few seconds to blearily stare up at the man’s face. Wait… it was _Jefferson’s_ arm slotting so perfectly around him. Jefferson’s broad chest he was pressed to. Jefferson’s eyes, looking down at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Fuck no. No matter how warm and soft it is, this was _Jefferson._ His a rrogant _,_ asshole  colleague Thomas Jefferson. Warm and soft couldn’t be further from what he was, and yet…

Alex couldn’t help but curl into the warmth of another body right now. The voice in the back of his head yells at him, begging him to build enough willpower to get his body to peel itself out of the warm cocoon Jefferson has made for him, but he fits so perfectly in this space, like two jigsaw pieces slotting together. He feels Jefferson's chin shift to rest against the top of his head and it feels like it means something. 

It’s so comfortable, so _warm._ Just for a few minutes, he reasons -  gently closes his eyes, accepts the fact that his body refuses to shift. He stays there, stuck with his mind racing, heart thawing in his chest.

***

A loud grinding noise and gentle thud of movement jostles Alexander awake. He slowly peels his eyes open, mind still foggy from sleep. It takes a moment for his brain to connect his body, and so he lets out a groan, face snuggling his head deeper into the expanse of the warm pillow he’s resting on. Except it’s not a damn pillow. It’s too firm and muscular. He blinks his eyes open, face wincing at the daylight.

“John?” he mumbles, wiping the sleep away from his eyes blearily.

“Try again” the man snorts, and when Alexander’s eyes focus enough for him to see _just_ who he was snuggling into. Alex jerks his body stark upright in horror.

“Have a good nap, Darlin’?” Jefferson smirks, slowly removing his arm from around Alex’s shoulders.

“I...uh…. _fuck_...we’re moving?” Alex manages to mumble out, staring straight ahead. Tries not to think about how he fell asleep on Jefferson's chest. Reaches up a gloved hand to self-consciously wipe away at any drool from his nap. Asshole probably has some smug look on his face. Feels his face burn red. Fuck.

“Yes, Alexander. Very perceptive of you.”

He shoots Jefferson a glare, trying his hardest to cover up absolute embarrassment. Thanks god briefly that the snow falling onto his face acts as an excuse against the blush rapidly forming on his cheeks and ears. "Fuck off" he barks.

Hears a muffled snicker come from the direction of the Virginian and quickly buries his head back into the scarf wrapped around his neck, like a turtle retreating into its shell. _Fuckity fuck fuck._

The following time that it takes for the chairlift to reach the base is agonising. Alex, painfully aware of the two-centimetre gap between himself and Jefferson, painfully aware of exactly what his hands were doing, lying awkwardly in his lap, and excruciatingly aware of just whose scarf was wrapped around him, keeping him warm in the cold, just sits there quietly, words drying in the back of his throat.

Eventually the blanket of snow thins out and Alexander sees the lodge come into view. Hell, at this moment, Alex wants nothing more than to get off this goddamn steel prison and away from whatever’s going on, get away from this mortified feeling. 

They reach the bottom and Alex hastily slides off of the seat, tripping a bit in his eagerness to get _the fuck away_ as quickly as possible. He feels a steadying hand land on his back, preventing him from slipping up completely as his legs wobble beneath him. Turns his head to mumble a quick thanks only to find Jefferson looking down at him, eyes glinting with something he doesn’t quite recognise.

“Be careful, the floor's slippery around here.” Jefferson says, palm resting on the small of his back for a beat too long before awkwardly pulling back.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Alex remarks, words coming out harsher than he had intended. They move out of the line of the chairlift towards the side, walking side by side to the lodge in uncomfortable silence.

“Here’s your damn scarf back. I didn’t need it, but it did help. Thanks, I guess.” He blumbers, still embarrassed. He begins to unravel the fabric from his neck only for Jefferson to interrupt him, hand raised in protest.

“Nah, Hamilton. Just keep it. God knows you don’t own a single fashionable thing in your wardrobe. Perhaps this is a step in the right direction for you."

He blinks back at the man in confusion before shooting him an incredulous glare, embarrassment gone. He was _not_ scrawny. He was _scrappy._ There was a distinct difference. With a renewed resolve, Alex works his hands around  to take off the scarf, this time with angry forcefulness.

“Listen here, I don’t need your stupid scarf-- _motherfucker_ ” he spits, hands cramping up from reaching up behind his head. He groans as it somehow tangles in his hair. How the hell did Jefferson wind it around his neck? Like some goddamn origami shit?

Just wants to die right then and there.

Jefferson frowns in concern, taking two steps forward. “Here, you got it knotted up, let me help-”

Alexander takes two steps back, in response, reaching and tugging harshly at the fabric until it finally comes undone. Winces as some of his hair gets pulled out in the process.

He holds the scarf in his hand gesturing for Jefferson to take it, chest puffed from exertion.

“Take your goddamn scarf. You’re gonna hold this entire situation over my head and I do _not_ want this as a memory of it.” Alex huffs, thrusting his hand forward.

“No.” Jefferson replies simply, smirking. “Though, that is a great idea.”

“Fuck you. Take it, asshole.”

“No.” Jefferson stands strong, arms folded.

Alex takes an angry step forward and pushes the scarf into Jeffersons chest. “Take. The. Fucking. Scarf.” He seethes.

Thomas just stands his ground, staring into Alex’s face intensely. “N. O.” he spells the word out, voice steady and firm. He watches angrily as the mans lips arch up into a smile.

Alex makes a noise of extreme frustration and attempts to tuck the scarf into Jefferson’s folded arms. Jefferson quickly throws his hands up to prevent Alex’s maneuver, ducking out of the way.  

"Quit wriggling you slimy fuck" he barks, getting more frustrated by the minute. 

A strong gust of arctic wind crosses the clearing, sweeping snow up into the air, interrupting their squabbling over the fabric. With Alex having let go and Jefferson having untucked his arms, the strong gust swirls the scarf up into the air.

Alex tries to reach up and catch it, eyes squinting against the force of the wind, but his fingers just skimp the frayed edges. He watches helplessly as the wind carries it off past the chair lift in the direction of the pine trees before blurring into the distance.

The silence stretches beneath them as they both blink in awe.

“I guess neither of us is taking the scarf.” Alex remarks dumbly.

“That was a _limited edition_ Burberry!” Jefferson snaps, face contorting in anger.

“Well, perhaps don’t hand out your pretentious ass clothes in future then, _prick_.” Alex spits back, turning and stomping up the stairs to the lobby. When he pushes the doors open,  he can’t help glance back towards the slopes. He catches Jefferson staring at the pine trees where the scarf got carried off, back hunched over and hands in his pockets. 

Alexander swallows down the sour taste of guilt as it hits the back of his throat. Can’t help but glance back contemplatively at the ski slopes, feeling like he got carried away, just like the scarf did.

***

He manages to find both John and Laf waiting for him in the lobby, not surprised to see the freckled man lying languidly on the couch, legs dangling in the air. Laf is looking somewhat more dignified, as per usual, one hand scrolling on his phone and the other wrapped around a mug of green tea. He’s glad that they were having fun lounging around while Alex was having a crisis outside. Fuckers didn’t even bother to wait for him at the bottom. He stomps over with a scowl, and the guys, alerted by his footsteps, both look up at him. John shoots him a dumb smile while Laf just smiles around his mug.

“Well, that was fun!” Alex chirps sarcastically, throwing his puffy jacket onto John's face before unceremoniously flopping himself onto the couch. Laf shoots him a glare as his cup teeters in his hands, hissing as some hot tea hits his pants. He doesn’t give a fuck. 

“You have to admit that you had a good time” John smirks slyly, his face poking out from underneath the jacket. Alexander glares in response, digs his heel into John’s stomach until the man winces.

 

“What kind of 5 star resort has a ski lift malfunction for forty minutes?” he groans.

Laf bobs his head in agreement. “I agree. I could understand _twenty minutes_ up on the slope. That is scenic, I can enjoy the sights, the birds, the skiing people, the children, yes. But, forty? With the snow too?” he shoots John a sidelong glance. “ _Non, non_ , not one bit enjoyable. I also had Madison for company, and while mad... _interesting_ conversation, he would not quit it with the sneezing.”

John shrugs, fluttering his eyes half closed. “Well _I_ for one had a _great_ time up there. It was kinda like watching a movie.” Alex glances up curiously. 

“You mean the whole picturesque, _bergfilm_ , escape to the mountains kinda thing?”

John stifles a laugh. “Not quite. If I had to put a finger on it... Y'know that one scene in _Happy Feet_ when the penguins are all huddled in the cold for warmth…?” He rounds it off with a snicker.

“John?”

“Yeah Alex?”

“Go to hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Sorry to the 50% of you who voted for an 8k chapter. I'm partial to long chapters myself, so I understand, but it felt a bit too long so... 
> 
> The next chapter should come up either tomorrow Tuesday at the latest. 
> 
> Come message me on either instagram or tumblr @vvhiny on your thoughts! Please leave a comment here, or hit the kudos button if you haven't yet. I love reading your predictions/reactions. :-) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Catch you soon ;-D
> 
> (also thanks to my best friend for helping out, she needs to make a damn account already so I can add her as a co-writer smh)


	6. Accidents and Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware of any changes to the tags (since they're updated as the fic goes on). With that out of the way, enjoy this 8k chapter!

“So, Alex. Care to explain why you suddenly need every piece of snow gear I own?” John asks from the other side of the room, leaning against the wooden doorframe.

Alexander ignores him. Vies instead to reach out for the black thermal turtleneck poking out of the heap on his bed before pulling it over his white vest. It fits snugly around his body, though long.

“‘Lex, you can’t just text me in the middle of drinks with hot,  _ rich _ guys around saying you need my help and  _ not  _ explain what the hell’s going on.” The freckled man groans, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Alexander sighs, raking his hair back with one hand before sliding the black beanie over his head. “Look,” he starts.

It’s not as if he knows exactly what he’s doing either. 

Does this make  _ any  _ sense? 

Well, somewhat, considering the situation. 

Would he like to rant about it with someone? 

Yeah, but he’d really rather not have this conversation with a tipsy John. He gets enough shit from the man when he’s sober. There was also the fact that he would either laugh at him or stop him if he told him the proper reason he wanted to trek outside in the snow again, especially considering he was already stuck out there all day.  

John examines his fingernails in the light. “I’m waiting.” 

Alexander quickly racks his brain for a good enough excuse. Time’s really not on his side here.

Well, he manages to come up with a semi-believable lie.

“Snowboarding,” his mouth runs automatically, “I wanted to snowboard.” 

Okay, so maybe that sounded more convincing in his head. Who the fuck goes snowboarding at five ‘o'clock in the evening? 

“You want to snowboard,” John deadpans. “And just why would you go snowboarding at five in the evening?” John yawns, echoing his thoughts. “You already tried doing that today, remember? You told me after attempt number one, mouthful of snow, looking a  _ sight,  _ “ _ I have better, more beneficial things to do than traipse around in the snow doing some adrenaline-rush sport with a high injury rate”.”  _

“Jefferson was saying up on the chairlift that I was an incompetent piece of shit for not even trying, so I wanted to prove him wrong.” Alexander lies easily, wriggling out of his sweatpants.

It’s not a far stretch from the truth anyway.  Jefferson loves to remind him of how useless he sees him. “I’m worried he’ll tell Steuben that I’m not ‘ _ actively participating’ _ in the conference activities, and I don’t want him on my back after yesterday’s fuckup.”

Alex strides over to the bed, picking up the matching black thermal pants from where he lazily threw them a couple hours ago. He’s in the process of tugging the tight fabric over his legs when he catches the John’s gaze from the corner of his eye, glinting eyes dragging hungrily up and down his frame. So naturally he works with it. He sits down sultrily on the bed, slowly tugging the tight fabric up both legs. They hug his thighs nicely, and when he looks up at John, the man’s face is lightly flushed. He smirks. 

Still got it.

Laurens frowns.  “I understand that you never want to back down from stuff like this, but I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

He finishes doing up the laces on John’s snow boots, winding the string tightly until his feet are completely secure. He wriggles his toes in his boots, just for good measure, before pulling up. Fixes the goggles around his neck and loops his arms into the puffy red jacket.

Doesn’t feel so sexy anymore. Notes from John’s look, all traces of blush gone, that he probably looks stupid right now.

“Look, Alex, it’s snowing pretty bad, maybe wait until tomorr--”

“Shh,” he interjects, sliding over to the doorframe. Hopefully his move earlier helps his case here, because he’s really trying to pull all the stops to appear charming enough. Which isn’t too hard - he knows John’s just like him. That even with seasoned experience from college parties and bars their tolerance for alcohol is still pretty low. They’re both easily swayed when they’re tipsy.

It’s usually why they end up fucking without remembering it the next day. 

_Anyway_ , he can play this situation to his advantage. 

Alexander leans up on the balls of his feet to run his lips softly against the shell of the man’s ear. “Just… let me do this, alright?” he whispers seductively, pulling down his hand to rest on the man’s ass. Gives it a teasing squeeze. 

John snorts in response. He looks down at him, eyes light and teasing. “As much as I think you’re hot Alex, and believe me, I do,” John says appreciatively, settling his broad hands on Alex’s hips, puffed up from the layers of fabric. “You’re kinda looking like an oversized angry marshmallow right now.”

Alexander immediately pulls himself away with a huff. 

Rude. 

“Thanks, Romeo”, he sneers, face contorting into a grimace. John lets out a snicker before leaning back, eyeing him curiously.

“Make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” he says softly, staring down at him.  “Sure, there’s no obligation since Schuyler's caught a cold, but Laf and I wanted to get drunk tonight. It’s an open bar and we’re planning on making the most of it.”

“Gotcha,” he replies. “Look, don’t wait up on me, ok? I’m just ducking in and out. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

John doesn’t look convinced. “Alright...”

It makes him feel shitty that he has to lie to his best friend like this, but it’s not like he’d understand. John’s always been the one to tell him that people who degrade him don’t mean shit. Reminds him that he’s a brilliant worker, jokes that the company would be five feet under if it weren’t for all his efforts.

Of course he knows that he’s a valuable part of the company. He wouldn’t be the Chief Financial Officer if Washington and Steuben didn’t see his skill and how much he loved his job. 

But the way the Virginian gets under his skin and pulls apart all of his carefully crafted ideas, all his meticulous work, makes it his life mission to undo the strings of Alexander’s career until it all falls apart - well, to be frank, it pisses him off. 

This whole weekend has given Jefferson enough dirt on him for the man to hold something over his head. Jefferson’s no stranger to blackmailing, especially when it gets him something he wants. 

He shoots up a silent prayer that no one will see him on his way out of the lobby. It’s ridiculous enough that he’s found himself in this situation in the first place, it’d be even shittier if someone from the company saw him. Or, even worse, if someone from the sister company saw him.

He shudders at the thought.  _ Fuck that.  _

Thankfully, he manages to quickly duck behind a wall when he hears Steuben's booming laughter from the other side of the lobby. When he turns around to check if the coast is clear, he spots the man a few metres ahead settled on a couch with one arm casually draped over Oliver’s shoulders and the other resting on the man’s thigh. 

Typical.

Some executives were preparing to sit opposite the two, hanging their sodden gloves in front of the roaring fire before sitting down on long wooden benches. A woman comes around with a jug of fresh coffee and fills their mugs. 

Alexander almost wishes he were one of them instead of doing this menial bullshit.

He lumbers his way through the lobby, decked out in John’s stupid snow gear. It’s a good thing that the outfit swallows him up so much that no one could easily recognise him, so he makes his way to the doors without any setbacks.

Ok, so we’re doing this. 

A push through the door has him instantly greeted with a gust of arctic air, light snow and ice hitting his face. The cold immediately bites his skin, but considering that this time he’s come prepared it’s much more manageable. He’d made sure of that, wearing layers upon layers of thick fleece and snow jackets paired with John’s big snow boots to keep him from actually dying of hypothermia.

He takes a sharp breath in and fumbles with his oversized gloved-hands to pull out a piece of paper, holding both sides firmly as it flaps in the wind. It marks an scrawled map with an equation on the other side. 

Now, if his calculations were correct about the gust strength relative to the angle of elevation, the scarf would likely have been carried off in the direction of… Alexander glances up from his paper at the blurry mass of pine trees in the distance. There. 

With any luck the scarf would have tangled in either one of the trees lower branches or settled itself at the base of a trunk. The trees in that patch were dense enough that either option was plausible.

Of course, he’d also factored the possibility of a change in wind direction. Or, well, that the scarf had already been covered in a thick a layer of snow, making it near impossible for him to find.  Which in that case, fuck, well, at least he tried anyway. 

Jefferson can’t give him shit for what he doesn’t know.

He’s timed this carefully so that he has approximately one hour until the sun goes down completely, leaving him in total darkness. The chair lift is around a fifteen minute walk away, and the trees were quite close, all things considered. As long as he followed the trail, he’d be fine.  He could work with this. 

He’s used to working under pressure with crazy deadlines. He’s  _ Alexander Hamilton _ for Christ’s sake, he can do anything he puts his mind to. Even if that is finding a stupid scarf in the middle of nowhere.  

The gentle snowfall grows steadily heavier as Alex trudges through the snow along a path, at least he thinks, is in the direction of the chairlift. He curses under his breath as he feels the cold chill seep into his skin, curling around his bones, even with all this goddamn layering.

“ _ Damn-pretentious-southern-stupid-ass-prick _ and his fucking dumbass  _ scarf _ . Didn’t even want it in the first place, yet, wow, here I am, having to go fucking get it.”

Fuck his cold-blooded body that refuses to retain heat.

Ahead of him is a continuous and seemingly never ending wall of white. The snow is coming down thicker now and rubbing his eyes every five seconds is getting tiring, so Alex pulls down John’s goggles over his eyes. He squints in the general direction he thinks is right, and catches the fuzzy outline of the chairlift not too far away. He lets out a small sigh of relief and continues in that direction. He’s still on the right track, somehow.

After what feels like forever, Alex finds himself at the outstretch of pine trees by the chairlift. As he looks out to the white slopes, squinting through the snow raining down, he can make out the dim yellow lights of the lodge in the distance. Satisfied that he knows where he is, he turns to the trees.

It takes around twenty minutes of scouring the leaves for any signs of plaid blue when he spots it. Hooked on a lower branch towards the back, with a thin dusting of snow and flailing lightly in the wind, still somehow here - Jefferson’s scarf. 

Of course he isn’t tall enough to reach the branch. So, being the incredible Macgyver he is, he hauls a rock over from the base of another tree and gingerly steps on it. It’s slippery from the ice, but, hey, it serves its purpose. 

With his makeshift stool, his fingers are just able to brush up against the frayed edges of the fabric. 

He’s glad no one’s around to see him making a fool of himself like this, reaching out so pathetically. He’s only ever like this at work when Jefferson decides to fuck with him. His new weekly source of sick amusement was placing Alexander’s prized green mug on the top shelf just to watch him squirm as he reaches up for it. 

Seems like it’s always that asshole that gets him into shitty situations like this. 

After a few failed attempts at wriggling, his fingers just out of reach, he says an internal  _ fuck it _ and leaps off the rock, stretching his arm up to grasp the fabric. He just manages to make it, fingers hooking around the fibres, before grasping the scarf triumphantly in his hands. The feeling of victory is quickly squashed by his boot catching off the edge of the icy rock and he falls unceremoniously into the snow.

There must have been a rock hidden underneath him because a sharp pain floods into his left thigh. Heat immediately pools in that location.

“God fucking damnit” he hisses in pain, teeth clenched tightly. 

He gingerly raises a hand to his leg to feel for any wound, knows the fabric ripped slightly with the force, but he can’t feel anything through his thick gloves. He doesn’t particularly feel like taking them off just to check either, so he reluctantly leaves it be. It can’t be more than a surface wound anyway. Probably just a scratch or a bruise, nothing to worry about.

Still, against all odds, he managed to get the scarf back.

Alex lets out a triumphant huff and hauls himself up on shaky feet. Looks back and spots the perpetrator, a jagged rock poking out of the white like some kind of demon asshole. 

He spins around, preparing himself for the cold trek back to the lodge. He’s running a high on images of Jefferson’s stunned face - pictures him with his attractive mouth gaping like a fish as he dangles the fabric in front of him. Of course, he could also blackmail him for the scarf back since the guy seemed particularly fond of it. Either option sounds great. 

He’s so caught up that he only notes that the snow is now coming down considerably thicker than before when it’s too late. The glow from the success quickly solidifies into a pit of uneasiness in the base of his stomach. Thick clouds loom above him, and the trees cast long shadows on the piling snow. He was counting on the setting sun to light his way back, but with the clouds looking as they are now, he can only make out a blur of pink and blue hues. 

To really set the cherry on top, the snow which had been falling steadily as he trudged out has now turned into an icy blanket, snow buffeting both sides of his body. He can only assume it’s the beginnings of a blizzard, because while he’s never really experienced a blizzard before, this seems a lot like it. 

A few seconds later a heavy wall of white snow is all Alex can see. He holds a hand out to test the visibility and finds he can only see one arm’s length in front of him.

_ Fuck _ .

Which direction did he come from again?

He picks his way out of the pine trees into the clearing, not before stumbling a few times on rocks and twigs that only became visible when it was too late. When he can’t spot the chair lift ahead of him, sight obscured by the thick snow, a thick wave of panic settles in his stomach. Muttering a string of curses, he decides to fall behind a thick pine tree, keeping the icy gust away from his face.

Ok, Alex, you got this, just  _ think.  _

Survival instincts kicking into action, he decides to assess the situation rationally. Panicking isn’t going to help him. 

Logically, he should seek shelter. 

Except there’s no immediate shelter around him and he’s not exactly sure where to go to find some. So that plan was immediately compromised.

The pine trees were about a 20 minute walk away from the lodge anyway, so he knows he mustn’t be far. Alexander quickly calculates the probability of freezing to death out here or taking the longer route back.

He could wait up to see if the blizzard would pass soon. He remembers from absentmindedly watching a weather report that blizzards typically lasted around 3 hours. However, with things as they were, Alexander was more likely to get lost and make matters worse for himself.

But he didn’t really want to wait around for that either. He’d much rather take his chances. He’s survived a hurricane before, what made a blizzard any different? Just some ice and snow. 

If he manages to walk from the clearing, it should only be a matter of time before he’s able to make out the blurry lodge lights. From there, it’s warm coffee, an open bar and Jefferson. 

Well, here we go.

Alexander raises a gloved hand to shield his face, wincing at the force of the wind. Of course, he had anticipated the cold sting of the ice on his face, but the ferocity of the wind and his visibility had his eyes blurring, even with John’s ski goggles. He’s half tempted to bring the scarf out of his pocket and wrap it around his neck, but doing so risked the possibility of it getting carried away yet again, and he was  _ not _ willing to stick his neck out for that chance. Not after he’s caught in this hellstorm anyway.

All Alexander could do in this situation was bow his head until his chin hit his chest and place one staggering foot in front of the other. Though his legs shuddered with the cold, his thigh thumping with pain from the asshole-rock, he kept going. 

He barely manages to make proper footsteps, feeling each step was mere centimetres apart with the force of the wind, but he also knew that each footstep was getting him closer to the lodge. 

Closer to warmth, closer to giving back the damn scarf.

He sets sight on that goal and grasps it tightly. This is going to be worth it, he tells himself determinedly. This whole shitshow snowstorm was going to be worth the damn look on Thomas’ face. Even as his face falls numb and pain throbs in his side. This will be worth it.

It’ll have to be. 

 

 

**༄༄༄**

 

 

Thomas strode into the common room later that day dressed down, a crisp white button down paired with a dark tie. 

Steubens had announced an open bar earlier today and he was damn well planning on making the most of it. The prospect of drowning the day out with expensive alcohol sounded extremely enticing considering everything that happened. 

Between the snowboarding, the agonisingly long period stuck on a chair lift with a irritable gremlin and losing his favourite nine-hundred dollar cashmere _limited-edition_ , _vintage_ Burberry scarf-he deserved a drink. 

He would make a beeline to the bar, hoping that it held some acceptably-aged wine or at the  _ least _ some smooth whiskey. 

So when he spots Gilbert and John Laurens splayed out over the mahogany bar, bartender eyeing them scrutinously, he almost considers trekking back into his hotel room and ordering room service. That seemed like the better option here. 

Well, he reasons, while he didn’t particularly care for Laurens, Gil happened to be his friend and the man had helped him out a few times before when he was pissed and needing a ride home. James was nowhere in sight either, so he could at least entertain himself for a couple of hours with their company, as…  _ trying _ as Laurens was. 

With that, he paces over to the two men. Gilbert is murmuring drunkenly, finger lazily circling the rim of an empty glass while John laughs on the side, hand wrapped around another shot. He watches in disgust as the freckled man tips it back in one maneuver, not even bothering to reach for the salt or the lemon to soothe the burn of what he assumes from the smell to be tequila. Like he does this for a living.

Heathen. 

“Hey, Gil. You with me?” Thomas asks the Frenchman. “Seems like you two took full advantage of the open bar” he remarks, amusedly taking in the line of empty glasses surrounding them.

If the man had heard him, he isn’t making it immediately obvious. His eyes are closed, head bobbing slightly, loose hand still cradling the empty glass.

It’s only when he leans over, body craning over the Frenchman’s drunken body, that Gilbert’s eyes finally snap open. The man jerks upright, glazed eyes widening with shock until they soften with a smile. 

_ Jesus, _ how much had these guys had to drink?

“Ah, yes!  _ Thomas _ ! Hello!” Lafayette slurs. Before he could respond the man pulls on his tie until their foreheads press together. He shudders as he feels Gil’s warm breath ghost his face, wrinkling back as the pungent cocktail of wine and tequila hits his nose. He feels Gil’s other hand find sanction on his waist, squeezing his thigh firmly. 

He watches in mild horror as Laf leans up to plant a sloppy kiss on each cheek in his usual French greeting. 

Or, at least, that was what he assumed he’d be doing, but things go a little differently. 

One peck happens to land on the corner of Thomas’ lips, so he naturally recoils in surprise. “Gil-” he says firmly, bracing his hands against the other man’s shoulders to pull him away.

The movement causes the frenchman to slip up when he leans over to kiss other cheek, and, in one horrified second Gil’s plush lips brush over his.  

He makes a muffled noise of protest as the frenchman continues, trying to pull himself away but the grip on his thighs makes it nearly impossible. He resigns to his fate, groaning. 

It takes a couple of seconds before Gil’s brain catches up with his body and the frenchman lets up a hum of surprise. Thankfully, he pulls back with a pout, tongue darting over his lips. 

“ _ Mon tigre, _ ” he scolds, arms folding across his chest. “I am seeing ano’zer  _ man _ . You should not take advantage of my affections when I am  _ drunk _ .” 

“But I-” he splutters uselessly, glowering. He glances wildly around the room, waiting for curious stares but thanks god as it seems no one witnessed their exchange. 

The Frenchman just stares back at him, unimpressed. Laurens barks an annoying laugh from beside him, somehow having managed to convince the bartender to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. The ice clinks noisily in the glass with the force of his laughter. 

The urge to abandon the two and leave them at the mercy of the bartender is awfully tempting. He locks eyes with her, flashing her a sympathetic smile. She just sighs in response before turning her attention back to wiping the lines of glass clean. 

“Nevermind,” he says awkwardly, averting his gaze. “I just wanted to check up on you. Y’know, to see if you were ok. And, uh,” he mutters, leaning back up, “now that I know that, I’m going to go.” 

Well, this was a waste of time. All he wanted to do was have a damn drink.

He pulls out a 20 dollar bill from his pocket and slips it into the tip jar on the side anyway. He hopes that it’s enough to keep the poor bartender from ripping her nice blonde hair out because he really doesn’t have the energy to play babysitter for a couple of drunken toddlers tonight. 

Speaking of drunken toddlers... that reminds him.

Thomas scans the room for any sign of the little gremlin. Sadly, he’s very much acquainted with a drunken Hamilton from many of Washington’s holiday parties. The short-stack is usually challenging Burr to some kind of drinking contest, yelling up a storm, before ending up passed out in the hallway. However unprofessional and ridiculous the man is, he always makes for good entertainment.

The picture of the Hamilton's sleeping form, cheek rested against his chest and eyelashes fluttered closed flashes briefly in his mind. He quickly swallows down the memory, storing it deep inside. Nope, he definitely needed that whiskey. 

“Where’s Hamilton?” Thomas asks, absentmindedly settling down on the red barstool. He gestures to a glass flippantly and the woman nods, sliding a glass of brown liquid across the bar. 

“Oh?” the man next to him pipes up. When he looks over, Gil has a hand curled under his chin, dark eyes glinting mischievously. “ _ Alexandre _ ?  _ Il nous rejoindra un peu plus tard.  _ John says… he had something to do?” he rounds off, as if confused at his own words. 

Thomas rolls his eyes and takes a sip from the drink. It’s nice whiskey. Feels the alcohol burn against his tongue nicely. He shoots the bartender a wink and she flushes under his gaze before giving him nervous smile. 

Well, maybe he could get get lucky tonight. 

“Typical workaholic” he says, turning his attention back to Gil. “Washington told him that nothing needed to be done this weekend. He’s just going to work himself into an early grave.”

John raises his head off the table in response, eyes blinking owlishly up at him. “Actually- _ uhh _ … don’ think it’s isn’t work stuff” he slurs messily. 

Thomas quirks an eyebrow in surprise at that. 

That’s interesting. The entire chair lift ride that  _ wasn’t spent debating about scarves _ was Hamilton muttering about some work he needed to accomplish.

“Hamilton doesn’t do anything but work in his spare time. If it isn’t for work, what’s he doing?” Thomas asks, perplexed. This didn’t seem like him at all.

The freckled man hums, tapping a finger against his chin. “Uh… dunno. He needed my snow stuff for it, though… something about snowboarding?” The man laughs at that, hands stretching out. “Shoulda seen him, Jeffy. He looked so cute and puffy. Like a marshmallow with goggles.”

Thomas’ eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

_ Goggles _ ?  _ Snowboarding _ ?

_ “ _ At  _ five in the evening _ ?”

John snorts around his glass. “Exxaaaactly. Said he had something to do? I dunno...” The man frowns down at the table. “Come to think of it, it’s been like… a couple… two? hours now. Should’ve been back by now...” he trails, contemplatively. 

 

 

**༄༄༄**

 

 

Alexander doesn’t know how long he’s been shuffling for when his squinted eyes finally make out the blurry shape of the lodge ahead. He breathes a hefty sigh of relief, feels his lungs expand and contract with the effort. 

Shivers. His body is so cold. Registers a numbing pain in his left side.

His throat is so dry. Why is it so dry? It aches from the cold and thirst, which he’d find ironic considering he’s surrounded by icy snow. Entertains the idea of opening his mouth to melt some of the ice on his tongue. Closes it as he realises what a stupid idea that would be. 

Doesn’t think his brain is properly functioning right now.

He feels the wind billow through his hair - where did the beanie go? John is going to kill him. Really doesn’t want to go back and find another lost piece of clothing. 

He said he would be back soon. He’s almost there. Soon. 

He can buy another one for him later. 

He somehow manages to reach the lobby steps and is instantly struck with relief, smiling weakly up at the wooden lodge. Manages to pull one leg up and over each step though his left thigh screams in protest. 

It’s almost completely dark outside now, but he’s standing under the balcony light and it feels like a beacon. 

Raises a shaky hand to push the revolving doors open.

Warmth. He’s so overcome with the warmth. The lodge is bathed in warm light. He soaks it up in its full glory. 

Blinks blearily up at the lights in front of him. Can’t make out the blurry shapes in the lobby, his eyes slowly adjusting to the change. Stumbles a step forward. There aren’t that many people there. Not faces he recognises, anyway. Their blurred faces all turn to him, eyes wide.

Blinks up at the people standing at the reception. They look familiar. The shorter one paces nervously and the other is hunched over the desk, yelling angrily at the reception staff. 

_ What a dick _ , his mind supplies. 

As he shuffles forward, the voices become clearer.

“No, you listen here, I know you can’t send out a search party yet, but he hasn’t been back for over 3 hours now--  yes, I understand, but he could  _ goddamn _ die out there and you--”

“Thomas, calm down and take some deep breaths.” The shorter man says, clasping a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“I can’t, Jemmy, the damn idiot is…” he taller man slams his hand angrily on the reception desk. He looks upset.

The shorter man looks up and Alex stares back blankly. When their eyes meet, the man’s eyes widen in shock.

“Hamilton?” he says, looking at him.

Immediately, the man at the reception swerves around. He has barely enough time to register the brimming emotion in his eyes before the man strides over to him, grasping his shoulders firmly. 

“Hamilton? Oh my god, Alexander--” his voice fades in and out, black creeping on the edges of his vision. “-- is your leg…? you’re freezing--” The man continues to ramble out sentences that Alex just can’t quite focus on, words all blurring into each other like a train smash in his head. 

Alex doesn’t register much, feels himself fall into the man's chest, legs crumpling beneath him. Registers warm hands around his waist, steadily keeping him up. With the one free hand not wrapped around Jefferson’s middle, he pulls the plaid scarf out of the cold jacket pocket.

“I found it” he smiles bleakly, voice sounding a million miles away. The last thing he registers is Jefferson looking down at him in stunned disbelief before the blackness consumes him. 

 

 

**༄༄༄**

 

 

 

When Thomas looks down at the shivering immigrant in his arms, a confusing mixture of overwhelming relief and anger courses through his body. 

Venturing out of the hotel at  _ dusk  _ in a  _ snowstorm?  _ Could he get more idiotic? 

As much as Thomas wanted to snap and yell, bury his head into his hands and sleep off this entire shitshow, he had to pressing matters to attend to. 

Pressing matters being helping Hamilton come back down to Earth again. 

Considering his brief google check-up on Hamilton's symptoms, the man was experiencing moderate hypothermia. With no resident doctor immediately available, and the severity of the situation unclear, he decides to get to work himself to grasp the situation. 

He gathers up Hamilton’s ski gear-clad frame up into a bridal lift, keeping him as close to his chest as physically possible. The man lets out a mutter under his breath and Thomas is started by how freezing his body is, practically a damn icicle melting against his chest. The man’s usually rosy lips are chapped and tinted a pale shade of almost blue. 

Thomas sets his limp body gently down on the carpet in front of the fireplace, sits him upright so he’s able to work on removing some of the sodden clothes from his body. Hamilton lets out a quiet groan as Thomas first removes his jacket and slunks it to the side. 

“...w-what are you..?” the small man manages to mumble out, eyes half lidded and unfocused, not quite there. His head lolls back against his chest. 

“Shut up, asshole. Do you know what you fucking did?! Well, genius, ya almost got yourself killed. How about you let me help so you don’t actually fucking  _ die _ .” Thomas spits out as he peels the wet gloves off Hamilton’s small hands. 

“I...I don’t need your...help… I got your scarf...where is it..?” Alex continues to mutter deliriously, trying to pull his head up giving up and letting it fall back against Thomas’ chest. The action would be cute in itself if it didn’t seem like the shorter man was slipping out of consciousness. 

“Hamilton, come on, you have to keep your eyes open” he snaps, slapping the man lightly on the cheeks to rouse him. 

Alexander grimaces, wriggling to get away from him. “Fuck… off, this isn’t some… stupid movie. Ain’t gon… die… dumbass” he mumbles. His hands begin reaching out for the jacket on the floor. “The scarf…”

Thomas grits his teeth. The scarf is the least of his fucking worries right now. The fact he’s even bringing it up makes Thomas want to strangle him. 

“Look, it’s here, you suicidal fuckwit. I have it.” When the smaller man winces, curling in on himself, Thomas feels that guilt form like a stone in his gut, weighing him down. 

Thomas pulls Hamilton into his body, rubbing his hands along the smaller man’s arms in a lame attempt to generate warmth. 

_ Why won’t he just fucking warm up _ , he just  _ had _ to go out with his skinny ass in the snow, ruin Thomas’ entire evening. The immigrant just lets out a groan of protest, eyes glazed over an unfocused. 

“You didn’t have to get it...” Thomas continues, hoping his voice doesn’t come across as harsh. It’s better to keep Hamilton conscious and talking. 

Hamilton leans into the warmth of Thomas’ chest, mumbles an only slightly coherent sentence, “Yes I did...lost it... was important to... you.” 

Thomas curses himself for making such a fuss over the scarf before. It seems so unimportant now. 

“I hate to say this, Hamilton, but your life is actually worth more than a stupid expensive piece of fabric” he reassures. 

Thomas grabs a grey fleece blanket from one of the couches surrounding the fire and drapes it over Hamilton’s shoulders. By now, almost everyone has left the lobby, either scared off or retiring for the evening. It's just hit 9 o clock. The receptionist is off now as well, having just got off from the phone after listing Alexander’s symptoms. When she tells him that the hospital advice on steps to follow to warm him up, he does so diligently. 

Thomas continues to rub gentle circles into Hamilton’s arms and legs, hoping to all hell he’s absorbing at least some of the warmth from Thomas’ hands. The pants were cold and wet from the snow, fabric clinging tightly to his legs. 

Without the jacket to bulk him up he looked impossibly thin and frail. He needed to get Hamilton out of his underclothes and into something warmer, soon.

Where was James with that hot chocolate? 

He was just rubbing alongside his legs briskly before the man suddenly let out a whimper, kicking his left leg slightly. When he brushes his hand experimentally over the left thigh, a weak elbow jabs his gut. 

“Hamilton, did something happen to your leg?” he breathes, chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously.

The man shifts underneath him. Lets out a grunt in reply. Thomas scowls. 

“ _ Alexander, _ what the fuck happened to your  _ leg _ ” he snaps. 

“Fell on some… stupid rock or  _ someth _ ...  _ s’nothing _ .” 

Thomas frowns in concern. How many hours was that ago? He didn’t know how deep the wound was or whether it needed any immediate medical attention.  It didn’t feel too serious, from what he could tell, but it was still enough to bother him and that was reason enough for concern.

“Have you managed to check the wound yet?”

Even in a semi delirious state, the man fixes him an unimpressed look through half-lidded eyes. “No, Captain Obvious…. snowstorm?”

Thomas didn’t have time for this shit. It concerned him enough that Hamilton was acting nonchalant about this whole situation when it was clear that his leg was bothering him.  Seeming that Hamilton was apparently conscious enough to shoot barbs back at him, his main goal shifted from lying here in wait to moving the man somewhere more comfortable to get a closer look at his leg. 

He quickly pulls out his phone to shoot James a text telling him to not bother with the hot chocolate before pulling Hamilton’s legs close to his chest. He shifts Alexander and easily lifts him up in his arms, cradling him close to his chest, blanket still wrapped around his cold form. Thomas pushes the  _ Up  _ button to the elevator door when Hamilton drowsily opens his eyes, glancing up bewilderedly.

“What are you…?” the man says, pushing away from his chest. “ _ Pud-me-down _ ” Hamilton says at once, tugging harshly at Thomas’ shirt. 

Thomas rolls his eyes as the metal doors  _ ding _ open. He punches in the third floor and regards himself in the elevator mirror, his hair a mess and a gremlin wound up in his arms. What a pleasant Saturday this turned out to be.

“Quit squirming” Thomas snaps harshly. “I’m just taking you to your goddamn room. Or would you rather make even more of a scene by staying in the lobby?” 

“...no” the man murmurs, sound muffled against Thomas’ chest. He huffs in response. 

“Thought so.”

His arms begin to ache from the weight of carrying Hamilton through the hallway, by thankfully it’s not long before they reach room  _ 306 _ .

“Keys?” he asks.

“ _ Pogget _ ” Alexander grunts, twisting his body, arm slipping from his neck to fumble the keys out of his left pants pocket. Thomas grabs the floppy hand, placing it roughly back around his neck, before digging into Alexanders pocket himself. He pulls out the key, cool metal glinting in his palm, before slotting it through the hole and unlocking the door. 

The room is an utter tip, previous clothes and papers strewn across the floor. How Hamilton had managed to make this much mess in such a short amount of time was, frankly, disturbing. Thomas shuddered at the thought of what the man’s actual home looked like. But that was beside the point; back to the hypothermic gremlin in his arms.

He sets Hamilton down gently on the side with the least crap piled on it and Hamilton blinks up at him, sleepy and confused. 

His heart thumps irregularly in his chest. 

“Ok, I’m gonna find some clothes from this room of yours. Seriously, it looks like a bomb just went off. You need to strip.” Thomas tells him with only a slight waver in his voice. 

To his surprise Hamilton doesn’t protest. He immediately pulls the turtleneck up, tugging until the tight fabric slides off his head, before tossing it to the side.

By the time Thomas is back, armful of warm clothes, Hamilton’s sitting on the bed in only his boxers, blankets wrapped around his frame. Even from 5 feet away, he can spot the bruise. It sits smack bang in the middle of his left thigh, sticking out like a sore thumb. He strides forward and kneels down to inspect it closer, bare hands gripping firmly on Alexander’s upper thighs to steady himself. 

It’s sizeable, just off the man’s thigh, swollen and angry red and purple on the man’s otherwise healthy tan skin. Though it looks nasty, he’d much prefer this outcome to an open wound. “Nothing too major.” he says, absentmindedly running his finger along the purple rim.  “It would have been much worse if you’d cut yourself open, cause then it could’ve gotten infected. I’m suspecting you did quite a number on your muscles though, it probably hurts more since it’s stiff from the cold.” 

“Told you it was nothin'” Alexander mumbles, from above him, and when Thomas glances up, he’s surprised to see Hamilton looking at everything but his face, thumbs twiddling in his lap. 

It’s in that moment that Thomas pieces where he is. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His broad hands are resting over the man’s thighs, the skin quivering under his touch. His eyes also happen to be level with the man’s lean stomach, and when his eyes trail down the seam of his chest, sliding over lean muscle before catching the crease of his hip bones…  

His breath suddenly hitches. He feels his heart begin to thud in his chest.  _ God, what’s wrong with him? _

He pulls his gaze back up wordlessly, leaning back. He catches Hamilton leering down at him with hooded eyes, rosy lips slightly parted. He feels static ignite feintly in the pits of his stomach, warm and not quite welcome but so addictive. Thomas wants the feeling to stay forever at the same time as never come back.

The force of the feeling shocks him and so he pulls up awkwardly, breaking eye contact. 

“Anyway, uh… I found this green sweater in that pile of crap by the door and it was the only thing that felt  _ remotely _ like quality fabric. I’m assuming it was a gift.” He hands the sweater over, before flinging some ratty sweatpants that he picks up with two fingers onto Hamilton’s frame, face screwed up in disgust. 

Thomas catches Alexander’s eyeroll just as his face disappears under the soft green sweater over his head, fitting his arms through the holes. He watches as the man tugs his legs into the sweatpants before flopping back onto the bed, arms splayed out. Thomas reaches under to pick up his left leg, shifting him so he can place a fluffed pillow carefully underneath the bruised thigh. 

“So, compression and ice are good for bruises, but considering how cold you’re feeling right now it’s really not the best option” he advises, leaning back. “I’ll grab you some hot chocolate to sip on for awhile.” 

Hamilton screws his face up in disgust, as if Thomas just insulted his ancestors. “ _Hodchoglate’s_ _gross_ ” he spits, offended. “I want coffee.” 

“I can’t give you anything with caffeine, dumbass.” He calls over his shoulder, rummaging through the cabinets before finding the sachet. He pours the powder into a mug and tops it off with the milk he finds in the fridge. 

“Why the  _ fugnot? _ ” Hamilton calls from the bed. 

“Cause Google told me” he replies simply. He stirs the instant hot chocolate mixture  before placing it into the microwave, nuking it for 40 seconds. 

“ _ Google _ ” Hamilton parrots, letting out a snort. “Not an actual doc _ ’ or _ anythin’...  _ Google.”  _

“Look, I don’t exactly  _ experience  _ with looking after suicidal half-frozen rats” Thomas chides. “You shouldn’t be complaining when I’m the one looking after your dumb ass.”

He makes his way back to Hamilton, handing over the warm mug begrudgingly. The immigrant wraps his hands around it with a toothy grin, pulling the drink close to his chest. 

“Could’a just asked John. He’s good at the whole...   _ nursing shebang _ .” Alexander whispers, raising the mug to his lips and taking a hesitant sip. 

Thomas scoffs and slides to sit next to the man on the bed. “Yeah, right. The only thing I saw tonight that he was good at nursing was a  _ drink _ in his hand.” Alexander turns his face towards him, eyebrows furrowing together cutely. He suppresses the urge to smooth out the line it makes gently with his thumb. 

“Whaddya mean?” he asks softly. 

“He was practically passed out at the bar, drunk off his ass with Gil. Must’ve had a dozen shots or something.”

Hamilton sounds an ‘ _ Ah’ _ , before shifting to lean his head back against the bedframe. “That makes sense,” he remarks, eyelashes fluttering closed. He joins him, pulling back to stare at the fan on the ceiling. 

“Open bar-” they say simultaneously. They turn to face one another in surprise before the shorter man shoots him a wide grin. Thomas can’t help how his eyes dart down to his lips, confused by how charming his smile is, how warm and inviting Hamilton’s brown eyes are. His dark hair fans out along his shoulders and his oversized sweater has slipped a bit, exposing Hamilton’s collarbone. 

They stare at eachother in silence.

“Hey…” Alexander starts softly, glancing up at him. His smile slips from his face and all of a sudden all Thomas cares about is finding a way to put it back on there. “I’m sorry for being reckless with your scarf… and then leaving you to deal with all...” he gestures randomly in the air, “ _ this.” _

“You just gestured to all of yourself.” 

Alexander chokes out a laugh. “Perhaps I did. Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton strikes again.”

Thomas thinks about making a snarky comment. That Hamilton ruined his evening, that today has been a pretty shitty day all in itself and all he wanted was to get drunk and get laid. But looking down at him all small and vulnerable, he feels the icy words melt on his tongue. He just feels warm inside, like a slowly growing fire lapping at his chest. 

“I’m just glad you’re ok” Thomas ends up murmuring back, shifting his eyes to meet his. 

They stare at each other for a beat longer before something flickers in Hamilton's eyes.  He pulls up and rolls his shoulders a couple of times, had cocked to the side.

“This is all you’re gon’ get from me as thanks,” the man says. Thomas flinches as a cool palm comes up to rest against his cheek. His fingertips are cold against his skin Thomas recoils at the touch, watching him weirdly. Hamilton just chuckles in response. He arches his body upwards, spine bending daintily until suddenly his lips are mere millimeters away from Thomas’.

He watches as his tongue darts out to wet his own lips.

Hamilton stops, a curious glint in his eye. 

Thomas narrows his eyes questioningly, face morphing into what he hopes conveys disgust at his close proximity. In reality, his heart is thumping erratically in his chest as Hamilton breath ghosts against his skin.

Hamilton leans in and suddenly he’s  _ very close _ and Thomas has to pull himself back a bit to find his bearings. “What. Are you doing.” He deadpans, heart pounding against his ribcage. 

“Just, hold still-” Alexander bites, using his palm resting against Thomas’ cheek to make the man face towards him again before leaning in. 

“No, what the fuc-” Thomas yelps, and when his body jerks to the side Hamilton lets out a huff of anger and suddenly warm lips meet the corner of his mouth. As soon as they land there, they both jerk back in shock. Hamilton stares at him wide eyed, mouth slightly agape. 

“Well,  _ uh _ , that wasn’t my-- _ ” _ he starts.

Thomas’ body moves on its own.

He pulls the immigrant forward, hands grasping onto the man’s shoulders before sliding lips over his. 

Alexander makes a muffled sound of protest against him, hands pulling up to grip tightly on Thomas’ white shirt. Thomas can feel his blood pumping in his veins as his lips glide slowly over Hamilton’s.

_ No, Alexander’s. _

Alexander’s face wasn’t moving. His body was rigid, lips forming a straight line. 

He pulls back with a start when his brain finally catches up to him, chest heaving. Watches as the man lets out a shaky breath infront of him, face flushed red and eyes impossibly wide. 

“Hamilton, I-” he starts, leaning back in mild horror. 

Hamilton says nothing. But when Thomas tries to pull back further, mortified at his actions because  _ Fuck, he’s never going to live this down _ , Hamilton winds his fist tighter in the fabric of his shirt, keeping him close. 

He watches wordlessly as Alexander heaves his body upward until it’s him who’s leaning over Thomas. His heart stumbles over beats anxiously as Alexander stares searchingly over him, his hot breath warm on Thomas’ face.

Hamilton seems to find an answer because he sounds a needy whine, pressing his body impossibly close to Thomas’ chest before crashing their lips back together. 

Thomas wasn’t sure which one of them opened their mouth first. Wasn’t aware of when fingers started clawing underneath his shirt, hands running up and down his sides. He registered his fist in tugging Alexander’s hair, the man letting out a moan in his mouth, tongue feverently licking against his. 

It’s only when Hamilton lowers a hand to palm at Thomas’ crotch through his jeans that Thomas’ brain fully catches up to what’s going on.

He pulls himself away quickly and Hamilton sounds a needy whine, chasing his lips. He swallows thickly at the sight, mind working into overdrive, before getting up off the bed harshly. 

Things seem to catch up to Hamilton soon after because his eyes snap open and when he looks back up at Thomas with kiss-swollen lips, the lustful haze is replaced with mild horror and confusion, a finger raised to his mouth in bewilderment. 

_ Did we just…? _

The unspoken question hangs in the air.

Thomas gets up and crosses the hotel room in 5 long strides. If Hamilton protests as he pulls the door shut, he wouldn’t know. 

He’s out before he has time to think. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wow, now that you mention that sexual tension is easy to see--"
> 
> Alternatively the chapter where Thomas gets accidentally kissed by two different people in the span of 4 hours. Huh.
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will be, but I always get motivated by you guys! So, with that being said, let us know your thoughts by leaving a comment down below! We always appreciate them. 
> 
> ... no seriously, I'd love to read your reactions. 
> 
> feel free to contact me @vvhiny on instagram or tumblr!


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